#my brain goes happy chemical when i see their art

[dirtbag-linecook-kyloren]

also i have adhd so every time somone interacts I get dopamine related to this fic and that’s definitely helped writing

have a tidbit I just wrote because I’m having a weird brain day so it’s Sad Girl Writing (it’s just a chemical imbalance everything is fine I’m honestly getting a lot done for being what I call a numb brain day)

---

His clock ticks on the wall as the rising sun imprints the shadow of his blinds on the far wall. From bed, Hux can pretend he’s stuck in a world out of time, that seconds falling away are just beats on a metronome, not the passage of his finite life on Earth but just rests in a song he’ll start playing when his part begins. Fingers twitch phantom notes, a combination of concertos he played, when he still had the time. There’s a keyboard sitting in the corner of his room, dust coating the plastic. It never had the right feel, so Hux stopped playing it. Hux took the day off to focus on his school work, gave his shift to Finn, but his alarm goes off anyway, phone ringing in the room. He’s been up for a few hours, laying just like this and staring into the middle distance. It feels like he should get out of bed, feels like he should climb into the shower and start his day, but his limbs are heavy and his mattress magnetic. How easy it would be, Hux knows, to hide under his blankets from the light of the day. He could curl into his sheets and disappear from the world, leave his phone across the room and let hours pass in a haze, only the beating of his heart and the breathing of his lungs to prove he’s even alive. How nice, he thinks, to just stay in place, pretend he is a statue and wonder if he’d be art, or simply decor. Still, he needs to silence his alarm, so he claws his way from the comforter and stands, trudges the few feet to his dresser and unlocks his phone. Since he’s already standing, Hux makes his way to the bathroom, eases the weight in his bladder and splashes water over his face. It’s not a full clean, but it pulls him out of this feeling a little bit, allows him to make his way down the kitchen and pull granola from his cabinets, pouring himself a bowl to eat dry because finding milk is too much effort. Ben bought him this, he knows. It’s an idle thought, something he sits with as he shovels toasted oats and almonds through his lips and chews. Everything tastes like dirt, but Hux knows that’s his mood, and not the food, so he keeps eating, lets himself get lost in the repetitive motion. Idly, Hux wonders how Ben is. Is he yelling at someone? Is he fine? Is the restaurant busy, or is today just a slow and lazy Wednesday morning? Out of the corner of his eye, the light for his answering machine blinks, reminding him that one saved message is in the cordless phone’s small data bank. It’s a relic, something Ben had made fun of his for bothering to have, but Hux is grateful for it, even now, even as it serves only to haunt him. Selfish, Ben had called him. Heartless. Too busy trying to leave the restaurant behind to think about all the things it had done for him. Hux doesn’t want to leave. He’s been dreading his last day, dreading saying goodbye to all his friends. But if his presence is killing Ben that much, Hux will go. In a trance, Hux sets his bowl down, going over to the answering machine and hitting play. The saved message is the only thing left to play, so Ben’s voice fills the room. “I hope your happy,” Ben’s voice slurs, just like it had the first time he’d heard it. There’s a rage in it, one Hux hasn’t heard in months. It feels ironic, for them to be back right where they started. He took the long way around, just to end up standing in the same place, nothing gained and everything lost. “All this fucking time you spent with me, and you couldn’t do one stupid thing for me. Couldn’t meet my fucking parents. I just wanted them to be happy for me, you selfish, heartless asshole. Do you know how hard it is, to see your face every day? How much it hurts to try and act like I don’t fucking know you? Like you’re just a stranger? Fuck, I can’t fucking believe you, you piece of shit, I hope you-“ And the voice mail cuts off, and it’s a moment before Hux realizes he’s crying. Tears run from his eyes to his cheek, dripping onto his thighs as he sits on the floor in front of the answering machine. He has a week left of torturing Ben, of torturing himself, and then they’ll both be free. Hux will be worse for the loss, but it’s a feeling he’s growing used to. So is the heaviness in his heart as his quiet crying turns to violent, wracking sobs.

(I had to cut out a spoiler but it was like a sentence don’t worry)

((I love making hux sad bc I get to use my own internal dialogue it’s a mess up there))

[milo-is-rambling]

I really want to paint something big. I think it would do something. Make me feel something. I want a big canvas project. Like a canvas the same height as me. That would be so expensive but I want it. I don’t even have paper that big I only have regular printer paper and maybe 11 x 17 (printer department flashbacks) ughhhhhhh. What time does five below open. Maybe. No. Ugh fucking stupid baby car (in my head I’m like a sim I’m stomping outside and kicking over the trash can) I hate the baby car. Maybe I could suck it up. If I can go early. It won’t be crazy hot (lying) but I could go to five below and get at least a bigger sketch pad (I know I have so many notebooks and sketchbooks and smaller canvases I’m not using rn that are fine but I want the happy buying things chemicals) I am so tired right now and I took a very large bong rip and now I’m just stream of consciousness typing and it’s ugh yeah my brain is tired and I want to be happy and do something I can pretend is productive but I don’t have any real ideas for art stuff. Well I did have an idea last night for a cardboard thing. Hmmm. And I haven’t done magazine collage in a while I could do that. Hmmmmm. I feel like if i don’t do something productive soon I’m going to explode (taking meds is working. Also three weeks back on meds as of yesterday) maybe I’ll move around my flags and posters today…… hmmm. However my mom did come into my room the other day (hanging out with funk) and randomly look at my wall (she doesn’t normally sit at my desk to look closely at that wall) and she was just like wow there’s a lot of thumbtacks in that wall. So I do feel like maybe moving posters and stuff is not the move. However. I also feel like I desperately need to get out of the patterns I’m stuck in so I want to change my environment instead of myself bc I’m avoiding changing myself always for reasons I’m not even sure of. Lie. Putting in effort scares me. Knowing i could put work into being a person and still crumble again and lose it all is terrifying and it feels like every time something goes well something else comes crashing down and I can never have everything going well at once. That’s why. But that’s also an excuse to not change my shitty behavior bc it’s hard and I’m lazy. But is that the mean voice in my head or is that the truth. Am I lazy or have I been depressed for so long I don’t know how to be happy. I was thinking about natural selection yesterday while I was swimming. (Water motif) (I laughed when I thought it so I had to add it) anyways. Natural selection. I was just thinking like. My brain is fucked. If you put my brain into any other body in any other place in any other situation they would still be depressed. I have a chemical imbalance like it’s just fucked to begin with. So then you have to be like okay so if I don’t go on meds. I can’t do anything. I’m literally like. I just rot away and do nothing when I’m depressed. But when I was like 11/12 the depression hit hard as fuck and I don’t remember when I got put on meds the first time but I think I was 14 or 15. Well. Wait. I did take a liquid dose of an antipsychotic when I was 13 because I couldn’t take pills (still hate taking pills). I forgot about that until just this moment. That was a ROUGH time in my life. And I just. Fully forgot about it. Okay. Ignoring that it’s been like six years since I first started seeing a therapist oh my god seven years since ***** i don’t even want to have a tag for him lol ignoring it !!!! Ignoring it !!!! Ignoring it !!! Not thinking about it !!! 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨 ignoring it. Okay. I forgot what my point was. I think my point was I should’ve been dead years ago if meds didn’t exist and yet I still have this cycle of taking them taking them then not taking them and now I’m on a taking them cycle but like what is wrong with me !!! Oh yeah the chemical imbalance and then add some traumatic shit too !! Ughhhh!!!! BRAINS ARE SO LOUD. I want to sleep.

[doktordismemberment]

Brain Puke: My Head's A Fucking Machine-Gun

Let’s be real here. You get born into a certain set of circumstances and life is fucking miserable.

Dad’s out of the picture, mom is an absolute weapon who works all the time and drinks to blur whatever time is left.

You’re average looking. An average student. You get screamed at a lot at home. Picked on just enough at school to know you do not and will not fit in.

You just started liking girls but have no idea how to talk to them and there’s nothing in your life to even to begin to pattern a healthy relationship after.

You have dreams but they’re discouraged out of hand.

College is too expensive.

The art world is too competitive.

You’ll never make it.

Like your mom who got knocked up at 17 and has worked at a fucking shoe factory ever since knows anything at all about college or “the art world.”

And you’re smart enough to start understanding that your life is not going to be fun or remarkable in any particular way.

You’re gonna scrape and struggle to get by while you watch people who were born into better families breeze by and act like the reason you’re stuck is because you’re not trying hard enough.

Like it’s 100% fair you’re gonna work retail for your entire life.

So you look for escapism, a cheap fix of the happy brain chemicals. For me it was comic books, sci fi novels, and playing heavy metal, for a lot of kids it’s video games and anime.

And believe me when I say you get fucking dunked on for it.

You’re the weird kid and it’s ok to fuck with the weird kid… Fuck it’s honestly a social bonding thing in most high schools. You need an out-group to define where the in-group ends.

They grind you into the dirt like it’s an extracurricular activity.

And your role is defined.

You’re the victim.

They’re the victor.

And you fucking hate it.

And the rage builds.

And if you live in a small town it doesn’t end with high school.

The casual cruelty carries right through to adulthood.

Once a schmuck always a schmuck.

If you’re lucky you eventually say fuck it, cut and run, decide that dying alone in the big city is better than fucking living here surrounded by idiots and assholes.

Then you make a couple friends who actually like some of the shit you like, find something that releases the pressure… for me it was playing in a grindcore band.

And in some small way shit starts to stabilize, there’s fun, and maybe just a bit of fairness, and people who talk to you like you’re people too.

And you work a job you hate but you also get to go to band practice and play shows and you start to realize there’s a balance there.

And you make friends with a few cool chicks who you learn to talk to like they’re one of the guys, then chicks stop being so weird and scary.

Eventually you start dating, and you get laid and think ok that was sex, that was cool. And it goes from unobtainable to obtainable and that’s cool too.

And life is fucking normal.

It’s a small life, but you like it well enough cos it’s way better than anything you imagined was possible when you were growing up.

And that’s how it went for me, and I’m not remarkable… I was a shitty student from a shitty family and I’m definitely not much to look at. If I can do it most people can probably do it with way less effort.

But I was lucky in one regard, there was no Internet when I was coming up, at least not any that I had access to.

I think about that a lot.

I WAS the archetype of the incel, the mass shooter, the monster.

And in my life it made total sense.

People were hurting me and I wanted to hurt them.

Christ, if I was at my lowest point and had other miserable kids to compare notes with I definitely would have picked up a fucking gun. No question. I was like one bad day away a lot of times as it was.

And that’s the part of this thing that I think we all miss in our pearl clutching when one of these kids does something bad.

We see the bodies pile up on the news but not the years of quiet misery that led to the break point.

You want fewer mass shootings? Don’t ban firearms, stop being shitty to the weird kids. Try to include them in your shit from time to time, and shit maybe watch Ninja Scroll and play a game or two of Magic: the Gathering with them cos it’s what they like.

Y’know, interacting with someone in a way that’s fun and comfortable for them, not just halfheartedly forcing them to do your shit then ditching them when they’re not into it.

Fuck, that might actually reach someone.

But hey, what the fuck do I know?

Just, whatever you do, stop making them feel like all they have is each other and their stupid message boards and their rage at how fucked up and ugly and unfair the whole stupid world is.

‘Cos straight up in a lot of ways they’re not even wrong.

[ay-wants-vodka]

I HAVE FINALLY MADE MY LEGITIMATE DESIGN FOR LASERBLAST U BET UR ASS IM GOING TO MAKE A COMPLAIN POST

For now, have art of power levels taken too seriously au

Read more if you wanna hear my borderline crack thesis regarding how levelling up effects ur physique in the au

If you’ve ever attempted weight lifting/exercising in hopes of gaining muscles before getting such hopes crushed because you learn the hard way that your weak little body needs a fuck ton of effort and strenuos training because muscles take harder to build especially when you’re at the newbie beginning part.

Essentially, ‘the first step is the hardest’ is a yeah no shit sherlock when it comes to gaining muscles.

Unless, you my forever beloved reader, by some cob forbid means, have a mesomorph body type. Aka you’re built different and god had a bias towards you, therefore you naturally have a high muscle to fat ratio, therefore you gain muscle relatively easier than others.

BUT you also lose muscle as quickly as you gain but I don’t need that right now so I’m gonna tuck this bit of information under the dustbin.

So there I was, going ,“huh so there was a possibility of people in the au to have the ability to easily gain muscle as they level up (or if they were a villain; level down)”

But then I was brutally punched square in the face as I remembered changing body types was impossible.

So I went ‘fuck you science this is my au and I can bribe the President of the Universe™️ to rewrite science. So from here on out, this is all fictional, sorta.

With that, I continued studying though and found that it was possible that thoughts controlled our body, in fact, they influence our bodies directly (this part’s legit btw).

Negative thoughts genuinely fuck up your body because your brain would go, “oh fuck why are you sad nonono” and then it’d deplete all those happy chemicals out of panic and damage your immune system instead. (still legit scientific study)

Vice versa if you’re feeling happy (okay these parts are all legit studies wtf past me why'd you put that disclaimer aout this being the ‘fictional science’ part where I mess around and defy science only to contradict yourself. Now I HAVE to keep these in because it’s funny).

Your brain would see you being happy and as a response, it releases endorphins and gamma globulin (which strengthens your immune systems). And these are all based on your thoughts, feelings and expectations.

Then I went hmm. Thoughts. Thoughts.

Ex p e c ta t i o n s ?

*Lightbulb forms above my head comically as I piece together shit*

Fundamentally, in this au, power levels are entirely based on your morality. Which is funny now that I think of it because its name is VERY misleading now.

In spite of that, it could make sense to say that people in the past misunderstood what the numbers on their wrist stood for and since those with higher numbers seem to be stronger, they’d make such assumptions and now everyone’s just stuck with calling them power levels even when it’s not definitionally accurate and modern science has proven it wrong.

NOW this is the entirely fictional part.

What if the more genuine, more passionate, more determined you are in serving justice and providing peace to the community, would make your mind go, “oh man. This is an important and risky duty to take. Gotta be prepared” and slowly you gain a more mesomorphic structure to ensure your safety.

Vice versa for villains yaddee yadda brain goes “mmm cant wait to be a menace to society gotta make sure I’m prepared mwahaha”

AND THEN I WAS LIKE WAIT

GLORBS

glorbs wouldn’t fuck with your morality but definetly messes with your physical strength/powers.

And this can have a bad long term effect because having your brain and body disagree is… not the best.

Glorbs would boost your body strength but your brain would get confused because that’s not supposed to happen since your morals are still where they were. Your brain would perceive the situation as stressful, however that is entirely contradictory.

And I’m not talking about your consciousness cause you know what you’re doing, I’m talking about TAHT brain that releases funny chemicals.

So not only would a glorb power up, or ‘going turbo’, be physically exhausting once the boost is over, it is mentally exhausting too.

Hey professor maybe you shouldn't let Fink use that too much cough scoffs coucgh cough coughc *contracts tuberculosis*

And after this I thought about Laserblast’s downfall.

This would mean he had to put in more and more effort into training and spend more hours hitting the gym to maintain the same structure in an attempt to avoid suspicion. His body loses its mesomorphic form as his morality becomes muddied, and since he’s not being honest and genuine about his current state, that piles up on the already decreasing numbers on his wrist.

The poor man

It’d make even more sense for him to centre his biological studies around glorbs; the only thing that is capable of increasing his physical attributes without messing with his principles.

(Now this is interesting because his brain would be even more confused as to why he is gaining more power DESPITE a decrease in his morality. Eventually leading to even MORE of an emotional burnout)

Desperation only digging him into a deeper pit.

This experience must’ve made Venomous associate lifting weights and strenuous exercise with severe stress to uphold an image. Instead, he’d just stick with doing nerd biology shit in the lab amd just sell stuff and be a dedicated capitalist.

As a consequence, it’d be understandable that he isn’t anywhere as muscular as he is now even if he’s a -7, which is a level away from being the mirror opposite of a level 8 on the morale scale.

To clarify, I’m not saying he’s a completely muscleless twig, just not as much in comparison.

EXHALES

Okay there you go. That’s all I have to say. I placed science in this au. Put an ‘R’ in the comments if you’ve read thru this shit. It means we are married.

[peterrparrkerr]

Alrighty friend, back with more at request. Coke Dick is dark and my HC is very dark too. Because there was one of two ways it could have gone when you first introduced it. Either Peter got clean and Tony kept him, or Peter stayed addicted while Tony kept him. Since Tony is a user himself, it made sense he keeps Peter on the drugs.

Anyway, for awhile Peter languishes, but eventually he is old enough to go out and convinces Tony to let him pick an online class or two so he's not so bored without them. Tony thinks he'll choose art or something but Peter always loved science and just slowly works his way through the science section of the catalog. And Everytime he gets an A the guys are so proud of him and fuck him silly.

And despite Tony warning him that he's still their toy first, they make sure he has time when he really needs it, though he gets really good at cockwarming while writing papers.

Eventually Peter shyly suggests that they could make improvements, and explains the chemical formulas and which parts affect the brain. He says they could even make custom drugs that they could sell or sell the formula to other dealers (Tony never did like attracting attention by standing out and if they did it right he could eliminate competition).

If Tony ever goes to jail, he's got "evidence" against Peter because the boy would never survive on the outside without him. Maybe he talks it over with Peter, maybe he doesn't, but he ensures that Peter is painted as part mastermind with Tony so they get sent to the same prison and he's able to use his influence to make sure they're cell mates.

I hate that my brain even goes here but Peter would realize how drastically shortened his lifespan is likely to be. Maybe he uses those science classes to create a safer higher for him and Tony/the boys because he loves them and wants a longer life with them. Addicts don't live long lives though, and criminals like them don't get to retire normally. Tony notices Peter's frantic research and at first thinks he's trying to get off the drugs to leave but Peter breaks down crying and saying he's afraid to lose them and Tony gets pensive. He's not exactly a spring chicken and he's lasted this long in the game only because he's smart about it.

So this goes one of two ways. Tony finally gets caught. They get raided or someone tries to move in on his territory. People die, and we see Peter or Tony holding the other one while bloodied, and I'd think at that point both would be happy just to go together, because Peter can't survive with the gang and Tony doesn't care to go forward alone without his men or his boy.

Or Tony wises up with Peter's panic. He starts planning their exit, talking to the boys, seeing who wants to come and who wants to stay. His close crew agrees they've been working long enough and would enjoy retirement so he picks a location, starts setting it up so that the house is ready for them, and it's got a safe house and escape plans just in case. Then he takes all of Peter's custom drugs and formulas, and his routes and stuff and sells them in the down low before just disappearing, leaving a note to whoever he left the distribution to (and maybe he doesn't leave it to anyone, but I think he'd introduce suppliers to distributors because the one way to have your retirement go bad is people pissed off that you left them hanging.) And Peter's got a lab to make anything they need and he's good at pharma stuff so even when they're getting older, he makes medicine when possible. Eventually they're all buried there together, and it's Steve or Bucky who holds the fort at the end, Peter having passed around the time Tony did.

Sorry this one just makes me sad because Peter would die super fucking young, and even the happy ending only stays happy if you stop early.

@snowstark @vaguekiwi listen 😭

I don't think Tony would go as far as incriminating Peter, but he'd definitely have a plan in the off chance that he was arrested. Maybe Steve or Sam takes care of Peter while he's locked up. And he's still got some pretty deep pockets and knows some really high up people, so Tony gets a lot more leniency in prison.

Peter gets to visit him often. They get a special room just the two of them. Tony still runs the show from prison. If Tony ever got caught he'd definitely be serving a life sentence. There's no way his lawyers would be able to drop his sensense or get him parole.

I like the idea of the boys getting out. Maybe people higher than Tony goes finds out most of the cops are dirty and decides it's time for a clean slate.

It becomes more of a hassle for Tony and his boys to keep their noses clean so after struggling for a few years and actually losing more money than they're making, Tony decides to move his base of operations.

By this time, Tony himself is probably a targeted man with law enforcement. His lawyers are beginning to doubt they can keep his record clean, and Tony doesn't want to risk it.

So he packs up Peter, Steve, Sam and Bucky and decides to start fresh. I think they'd go to Morocco. There's no us extradition treaty with the us there and those boys would thrive in the khaki pants with the half buttoned white shirts with the sunglasses.

I don't think they'd retire, but they would slow down. Tony gets his business up and running, but it's run between him and his boys. He doesn't hire anyone else.

Peter even joins in. He deals to the local kids around his age, and occasionally mules across certain distances with Sam or Bucky at his side.

The weather is better for them all there as well. I'm sure Tony takes every chance he gets to go to the beach and sun bathe. And they all go to the local food market in town for their groceries.

Almost everyone in the city they now live in know who they are. Drugs aren't all they do now. Bucky starts working part time as a fixer. He's always been good with his hands, and there's a lot of broken doors and boats with holes in them.

Sam works at the local bar, serving people fruity cocktails with little umbrellas. Of course he makes a profit for Tony there as well when he can.

Steve? Steve found his calling as a tour guide! He's the one people always want -he's booked for the whole summer. It's most likely because he shares his stash with the tourists and sells a bit too.

But it's still not easy. The us government are still on them, still trying to arrest them all. The Moroccan government is also not a fan of drugs in their cities and they're already dealing with a surplus of crime.

On top of fighting for their spot in town as the local drug traffickers when you've got the Moroccan mob/traffickers. It's calmer than New York, and definitely smoother, but there are people with guns here too, so I'm sure there's quite a few gun fights, but as long as Tony keeps his boys clean, they're in no danger of being arrested here.

They're careful, and they're all darkening under the constant sun. And maybe they have a shortened life span, but at least the time they have left if spent in a place like Morocco 😂

If coke dick ever had a happy ending, this would be it.

[morganmeyers]

Big Reading

So I did this super intense reading last night that was the biggest reading I’ve ever done and it wasn’t for just me so I’m going to share it here. If you see this, it might be for you so take what resonates and leave the rest.

IMPORTANT BEFORE READING: MEDITATE AND GROUND YOURSELF! There is a lot of information that is about to be unpacked in this reading.

I did this reading by using my Santa Muerte Tarot and Oracle cards. With the Oracle cards, I will be explaining what they mean, the significance behind them and what I saw in the cards while reading them. Songs also came up on my phone on shuffle, so Shufflemancy also plays a part in this reading as well. These songs came up before I started the reading that I felt were important:

Gabbie Hanna - Honestly

Halestorm - Uncomfortable

XXXTENTACION - Save Me

In total for all of the cards that got pulled, there was 44. The angel number 44 means: pay attention to your intuition & inner-wisdom as your connection with your guides is VERY strong at this time. This is a very prominent theme that goes with this reading.

Oracle Cards:

Darkness - 1 - Coming out of the shadows and showing your face. Standing in YOUR power. Meditation. Meditation. MEDITATION. The song Midnight Sky by Miley Cyrus came in my phone on shuffle mode. Some lyrics that stood out to me: “The Midnight Sky is the road I’m taking, head high up in the clouds. I was born to run, I don’t belong to anyone, I don’t need to be loved by you.

Masculine - 2 - Don’t be afraid to ask questions. You might not like the answers given, but take it in stride and make the best of it. The song Cancer by My Chemical Romance came up in my head when reading this card. When looking at it, I see a gas mask. Maybe it has something to do with being gaslighted by someone close to you? Either way there are some hard lessons that you’re about to learn. The color red is very prominent not only in this card but the reading in general. Red refers to Family, Love, partnerships, etc. Someone in your family/close to you isn’t telling you the truth or respecting who you are or your boundaries. Don’t take their shit. They’re afraid of whatever truth they’re hiding to come out.

Tlaloc - 9 - Tlaloc is an Aztec god of rain & fertility. He was very feared but also respected in the fact that he could water the fields of labor with one hand and could very easily destroy that same field with the other. In this card, I saw the color of green. Green is in reference to getting justice upon whatever your situation may be. Take no shit but do no harm. While you are being disrespected by whoever it is in your situation, it’s not a good idea to do the same to them. Whatever revenge you want to exact upon the person in question, don’t do it. It will bite you in the ass. The song Bow Down by the band I, Prevail came on: “I don’t really like myself, I think I’m breaking down.”

Mictlantecuhtli - 10 - I almost immediately saw Rafiki from the Lion King when looking at this card. Not everything is as black and white as you’d like it to be. You have to look at the other person’s POV before taking any sort of action. Watch what you say and do.

Tezcatlipōca - 12 - Tezcatlipōca is an Aztec god of night, war, education & temptation. I immediately paid attention to the cheetah print cloak. Maybe the action that needs to be taken upon whoever it is needs to be a fast action. He’s also missing a leg from a battle he fought. When meditating, you need to assess what things in your life you need to sacrifice or cut out when going into this next stage of your life. Not everything you can take with you. Some things you DEFINITELY cannot take with you. 2 songs came up with this card.

Eminem - Love The Way You Lie: “It Wasn’t you, baby it was me.”

Linkin Park - Bleed It Out: “Mama help me, I’ve been cursed, death is rolling in every verse, candy paint on his brand new hearse, can’t contain him he knows he works. Fuck this hurts, I won’t lie. Doesn’t matter how hard I try. Half the words don’t mean a thing and I know that I won’t be satisfied”

Huitzilopachtli - 13 - Huitzilopachtli is an Aztec god of the son & War. The sun is a very prominent theme in this reading. The color blue very much stood out to me with this card. Blue is in reference to Wisdom, increased mental powers & concentration. What drew my most attention was the 4 swords in the back. I went through my tarot deck because the 4 of Swords wasn’t originally a card that was pulled but when I did look at it, it was reversed. What I got from this card specifically, it looks like to me you’re taking the nails out of a coffin. Make plans to trust your intuition & take the nails/swords out of the coffin you previously stored away but do it with caution like the humming bird on the Huitzilopachtli #13 oracle card in the left corner so you don’t get burnt.

Chalchiuhtlicue - 14 - Chalchiuhtlicue is an Aztec goddess of water, lakes, seas, sailors, beauty & fertility. I saw the thunderbolts upon the top of the head first. The day of reckoning/judgement day is coming. 3 songs came up with this one.

Beatles - Yer Blues

AC/DC - Thunderstruck

AC/DC - Back In Black

Go with the flow because you’re at the point of no return and there’s no way for you to go back. At all. Embrace that power, that thunder, as your own.

I saw Mama Imelda & Hector from the Disney movie COCO when looking at this card as well and heard another song by Rihanna called Hate That I Love You (Feat. Ne-Yo). Some lyrics: “And I can’t stand you. Must everything you do make me want to smile? Can I not like you for awhile?” And “I despise that I adore you”

Tlazolteotl - 15 - Tlazolteotl is an Aztec goddess of earth, sex, moon & birth. The moon and the birth is what I saw first. A rebirth of sorts will take place. You need to do shadow work as your ego needs to be put in check but you also need to trust your intuition. If you feel something is off, it is. And it needs to be fixed.

Quetzalcóatl - 16 - Quetzalcóatl is the most important god in the Aztec pantheon. He is a god of Knowledge, dawn, merchants, arts & professions. I thought of Pepita from Coco. Pepita is an Alebrije which in Latin cultures is more so a spirit guide taking the form of an animal. Your spirit guides are trying to tell you something so you need to pay TF attention! Do not fear and do not give up. Through perseverance and insistence, you will reach the goal that you desire and that most of all, you deserve.

Shadow - 17 - Most of people that I know and know me, know that I’m afraid of Spiders. Always have been and probably always will. I saw spiders crawling all across the face on this one. Embrace your fears and face them head-on. Now is the time to do some HEAVY shadow work and work on yourself in general. Be mindful of your thoughts, feelings & words towards yourself and others during this time.

Intellect - 22 - Some of you will be getting MAJOR downloads in the coming days and or will be doing some heavy studying. Keep your brain busy and analyze the situation your facing with rational though. Yellow is also a prominent color in this reading and this card. Yellow represents thoughts, Wisdom and knowledge.

Flux - 24 - The song Carolyn by Black Veil Brides came up with this card. Lyrics: “I wished to god I’d known that I, I didn’t stand a chance of looking back in knowing why. A pain of circumstance.”

Breaking. Generational. Curses.

You’re doing it now. You’re working on yourself and putting yourself first before undoing everything else and that’s a good thing! KEEP GOING!

You have the world in your hands to take time and reflect on your lineage/ancestors.

Harvest - 27 - The sun in the corner. You will be able to eat the fruits of your labor one day and so will your future family/successors if you continue to go forth in braking those curses put upon your family line.

Art - 29 - Your ancestors and spirit guides are watching you in awe for doing the work you’re doing. They see you painting the sun card and creating your own happiness and they’re cheering you on. Keep doing the good work you’re doing.

Santa Muerte - 32 - Be absolutely sure that what you cut out in your life is what you want to be gone. Once it is, there’s almost no way of getting it back. Trust your intuition.

Tarot Cards:

Fool ⬇️

Magician ⬆️

Lovers ⬇️

Temperance ⬆️

Devil ⬆️

Tower ⬆️

Sun ⬆️

Judgement ⬆️

2 of Cups ⬆️

6 of Cups ⬇️

Page of Cups ⬆️

Knight of Cups ⬆️

King of Cups ⬇️

Ace of Pentacles ⬆️

2 of Pentacles ⬆️

3 of Pentacles ⬆️

4 of Pentacles ⬆️

5 of Pentacles ⬆️

7 of Pentacles ⬇️

King of Pentacles ⬇️

Ace of Swords ⬇️

6 of Swords ⬇️

Page of Swords ⬆️

Queen of Swords ⬆️

King of Swords ⬇️

2 of Wands ⬇️

3 of Wands ⬇️

6 of Wands ⬇️

Queen of Wands ⬆️

Like with the Oracle cards, you’re on a journey of self healing & breaking generational curses. You’re on a path that you can’t turn around and go back on. You need to keep walking forwards. Right now it seems like things in your life are in disarray and that’s for a reason. You’re on your current path and dealing with these issues head-on so that others that come after you, don’t have to, they’re gonna have other issues that need to be dealt with. However, the heavy load of the curses/trauma is being dealt with you now in this lifetime because you are the most capable even though it might not seem like you think you are. Going through the trauma is what’s going to bring you so much happiness and everything you could ever hope for.

You are so near the end of the finish line in dealing with everything that it’s so unnecessary for you to even attempt to turn around and undo al do the hard work you’ve already done. Why would you want to go back to all of the trauma? You don’t. Don’t sacrifice yourself for others who clearly don’t give a SHIT about you. FUCK. THAT.

Do what you believe is good for you and your higher self and go forth in doing things that you’re passionate about. Don’t let others lie to you and walk all over you. They don’t know you like YOU do. If you can sense that someone is going something that isn’t good or can tell that they’re not telling you the truth of something that’s going on, that’s most likely the case.

You need to assess what you’re willing to let slide and willing to take with you in the next chapter of your life cause you won’t be able to bring everything with you. And when you do and you set your boundaries by putting your foot down HARD, there will be others waiting for you on the other side cheering you on because you make it to the other side a FAR better person that where you were when you started your journey. Not everybody is worthy to walk with you if they continue to act the way that they do and you have to accept that or nothing will come of the changes you’ve made for your happiness.

[katelynn-a-fan]

Fake title: Paint the sky

(I’m starting these up again cause I still have handful and it’s been... many months)

Okay so this is a wings au, where everyone is born with wings.

Except, Virgil’s came out... wrong, one of his wings grew wrong so he was grounded from day 1

So as he grew up, he was bullied for his defective wing, but one day in freshman year someone fought back for him when they kicked Virgil down. 

Virgil was wincing from the pain a bit before he was able to see who rescued him and when he did see who, he nearly had a heart attack as he saw strong jet black wings surrounding him protectively.

It was one of the relatively popular kids, who all had strong wings and could fly faster than most of the other students. 

“Hey, are you satisfactory?” “Why do you care?” “Because I’m not an asshole like them, just because I hold a popular position does not preclude me from knowing it’s wrong to bully others.” “...Touché.”

Virgil was Gay, the boy was smart and had a nice smile and was against the other popular kids and  had big strong wings...

Big.... strong... wings...

Virgil didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t even know how it happened, but he somehow was eating lunch with the popular kids, but mostly Logan, the boy who rescued him. 

He felt awkward sitting with the people he knew looked down on him because of his wings, but he grinned and bared it for Logan’s sake.

Virgil noticed that slowly everyone around Virgil even in normal class began to look at him weirdly. He of course suspected one or all of the popular kids, but he didn’t have proof.

It wasn’t until junior year, almost 3 years of grinning and baring it that the popular kids asked Logan why he hung out with a ‘defective.’

Logan surprised Virgil by snapping, he whipped around, pulling the kid up by his collar and growling at him to ‘say that again, Brad?’ The kid, full of bravado, repeated the question, but Logan brought Brad’s face up, millimeters from his face, making his intentions clear, expression dark and terrifying even to Virgil, who had never seen him more than frown, and slowly repeated himself one last time.

“Say that again?” “....nothing! I said nothing!” Brad’s voice was uncharacteristically high.

Virgil finally was able to relax, no having to worry about Logan going to detention for a fight, when Brad suddenly swung at Logan as he turned away.

Logan retaliated in kind, fighting back ruthlessly. Virgil froze as he watched them both fight each other, unable to move to stop Logan.

It wasn’t until the school resource officer pulled them apart that the fighting stopped and Virgil still stayed frozen as his best friend was taken away. He did nothing, and it was because of him that Logan was in trouble. 

That night he got a call from Logan, and he was so concerned for Logan, but he felt as if his body wasn’t his own as he spoke stiltedly, knowing Logan could tell something was wrong.

Virgil told him he couldn’t be his friend anymore, steadying his voice as much as he could to say he hate Logan, even as tears streamed down his face as he did.

He avoids Logan as much as he can, managing to avoid him enough that the only time they are in the same room together is at graduation.

Virgil pretends not to notice Logan’s gaze fixed on him when he is in sight. 

And as Virgil goes to college, part of him is happy that Logan can live his life without Virgil’s weak and defective wings.

And yet...

His parents did everything to try to coax Virgil’s wings into flight condition, trying surgery to correct the wing just before 18, though Virgil had resigned himself that he would never fly a long time ago.

The surgery succeeds... mostly. 

Virgil can fly now, but it’s on a time limit, anything past an hour or two takes his wings out of commission for a week or more, but his exercises of hovering every so often have proved his wings are getting stronger.

But just like before, Virgil didn’t let that stop him. 

He was interested in chemical engineering through college, but once he got out, it didn’t satisfy him, he barely managed a year before he quit.

It was in that lull, not knowing his future that he found one of his first drawings he ever made, tucked away. 

It was of him flying high in the sky with perfect and big wings.

Virgil smiled at the grand imagination of his youth, that if his wings were whole, he would know his purpose.

His wings still weren’t whole, but as he looked at the drawing, he remembered. 

Every time he drew himself in a doodle, he always drew himself in the sky, something he hadn’t been able to do for the longest time.

But he realized... it wasn’t because he wanted to fly, at least not completely, as he had done the same on his last paycheck receipt the week before.

It was the sky. He was fascinated with the sky itself.

And so it began.

Virgil had never really taken an art class before, but he went at it with all he had.

He desperately bought a set of paint, an easel and a canvas with the dwindling number in his bank account.

Virgil chose that afternoon to start painting. starting with the blue sky before the sun began to set and Virgil’s painting began to fade into more orange, yellows, and reds. By the time evening came and the sun had gone below the horizon, the painting had been finished, the reds fading into purples and blacks.

It was only then that Virgil stepped back, not turning on the light to see his work before he crashed on his bed.

He woke up to the sounds of his boisterous friend Roman calling him.

Roman talked a mile a minute, Virgil barely able to tell what Roman was talking about until he finally heard the word ‘painting.’

Virgil turned red, he had forgotten about his painting in the living room.

“You like it?” “Do I like it? Well, it would be hard to disagree with the almost a million people who have already seen it.”

Virgil’s brain malfunctioned.

“What?”

Roman showed him his phone, where a picture of his painting had been posted on Virgil’s Instagram among his few previous pictures, most were of his halloween costumes that got a few hundred to over thousand on his vampire halloween costume.

“YOU POSTED MY PAINTING ON MY INSTAGRAM! WHY DO YOU HAVE MY PASSWORD!” “Whoa chill, you haven’t changed your password in 3 years, dipshit. Did- you even hear me? You have almost a million likes on the painting. I like the eyes.”

Virgil’s fist stopped where he had been about to punch Roman’s arm.

“A million? How?! Wait... eyes?”

Roman looked at Virgil weird. 

“Yeah, the obvious eyes in the painting.”

Virgil snatched Roman’s phone, getting a closer look at his own painting, just now seeing the very obvious green eyes in the painting, as well as the more subtle outline of a very distinct set of wings that Virgil knew well.

A number of miles away, Logan checked his very rarely populated Instagram feed while he drank his morning coffee.

However, today he decided his home needed some as well as it was projected out as Logan spat out the mouthful of coffee he had been drinking, mouth open as he saw his own green eyes and his specific set of wings in a painting on Virgil’s profile.

The number didn’t even matter, it barely registered, but a smile spread on Logan’s face as he realized Virgil didn’t hate him as much as Logan thought he did.

After all, you don’t pain someone you hate into something so beautiful.

So Logan finally scrolled down to Virgil’s contact for the first time in years after so many times to reach him.

He pressed call.

[poptod]

Invariably (Elliot Alderson x Reader)

Description: You both wonder how love works.

Notes: I haven’t watched a single episode of this show. Yes, I know, I should, but I’m really sensitive and my mental health does not do well around these kinds of TV shows. Sucks, I know. So this might be very funny considering I probably put in a crap ton of wrong information, but I read a CRAP TON of Mr Robot fanfiction so hopefully that’ll make up for it lmao. Gender neutral as always.

Word Count: 1.9k

Why do we love?

Many say it’s just a chemical in your brain, but there’s others that say it’s a bond that goes beyond human life. All you know is that your love feels like life incarnate, ever-changing but always adoring and caring, even if it doesn’t know how. What part of him made you love him you can’t pinpoint - it could’ve been his smile, or perhaps the meaning behind his touch barely gracing your skin. It could’ve been that he simply was, without meaning and without purpose, he existed and was simply extraordinary.

There’s different forms of love, of course - familial, platonic, romantic, sexual, but they all count. It’s affection for another, worship to the unholy, benevolence upon the unworthy. If only you could articulate; he’s so quiet, so thoughtful, so strange in his intricacies that you’d happily spend a lifetime to know his ardor as well as you know you love him.

Why, exactly, we love isn’t something easy to answer - you love him because he exists. He doesn’t have to love you back, in fact you’re sure he doesn’t; love for the sake of it is something rare to come across. Many people love for favors. They love the fact that another person can make them happy, they love the feeling they get, they love that the other person thinks of them and buys them gifts, but love for love is strange, not unknown to you, but certainly to him. He can’t seem to understand you, but it doesn’t bother you too much. Why do you love him? He is. You find warmth in his reply, solicitude in his silence, yearning in his breath - there’s a tenderness so fond, so adoring and everlasting that you can’t simply answer why you love him. You just do. Even as he leaves you for months at a time you love him - he is not indebted to you for your love for him, both of you know this.

So when asked, ‘why do we love?’ your answer is often, ‘there’s no reason at all, I’m afraid.’

How do I love you?

You don’t make it obvious, but you make no effort to hide it - you’re at his beck and call though you save enough time for yourself. The struggle to find balance in care for others and care for oneself is one you’ve fought with many years, but there’s a peace in helping others, in loving others, that you can’t find in self care. As much as you may take care of yourself, one human in an empty world won’t survive long, especially not one like you; you’re half desperate for touch, for human affection, for someones’ charity, none of which you get from him. Again, he owes you nothing for the love you feel.

But as his exterior, his routine, his life begins to mold and change as life always does, it molds to fit you - right at his side, and the feeling for him is indescribable. It’s horrid, awful, and he absolutely hates it; you make him nervous as every other person does but you’re so understanding, so warm that it only feels right to have you near. For years he’s kept his love in solitude, his regard locked away deep in his mind, and now without thought you’ve made a home for yourself right next to that box he hasn’t dared to open. You don’t pry - no, you’d never do that to him - you’re just… there. Gentle. And it drives him insane.

Affection simply isn’t something he enjoys, not something he understands, but with you there’s stunning clarity in what was so bewildering. Like finding new colors, unfathomable, inconceivable without the use of technology, but instead of the technology he finds comfort in it’s you. You’re the thing making the unfathomable into reality, the inconceivable into actuality.

When he wanders into the back of his thoughts, to the subconscious of himself to find that little box with all his affections locked up, all the love stowed away for later use, he relates the train of thought to you. You’re beside it, fit into a hole made only for you, made for each of your complexities.

He finds himself wondering, ‘how do I love you?’

‘How is it possible you’ve made me love you?’

‘How did you manage to break into what was so closely guarded?’

He doesn’t tell you about his findings, not when your hair is tussled from accidentally sleeping overnight in his apartment, not when you’re making him breakfast because you don’t want him to go hungry. Certainly not when you smile, and when you leave, he desiderates what he couldn’t say. Somehow he sort of, just maybe, already knows what you’d say - you didn’t break into his heart. You didn’t cheat him out of his possessions, you didn’t steal from him; you gained his trust, and without realizing it he’d handed all this power over him to you.

It’s frightening, but that’s sometimes what love is. Even if he wishes love was more kind, more generous and understanding to his situation, he wouldn’t be alone. Lots of people wish love were different, and he knows that, but he can’t help himself from wishing it along with them as he stares at the closed door you walked out of.

There’s so many things you’ve done for him, you’ve shown love in nearly every way a person can. You compliment him, you assure him of your care, and you do things for him as well, such as cooking breakfast. Every moment he wants you by his side you’re there, even sometimes when he doesn’t want you, despite the fact that he needs you.

He needs you, he realizes, he needs you desperately, he needs you to stay with him, to be forever young but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know how to tell you this, he doesn’t know how to interact with you in any way that might clue you in so that you’ll make the first move. You’re ever so polite, so much so that you hardly ever tried to do something against his wishes or needs, so without his initiation you’d never do a thing. Not without his direct consent, and for a moment he curses your philanthropy.

How can I let myself be loved?

If there’s one thing in his entire world, the world he studies so meticulously yet doesn’t care much for that he doesn’t understand, it’s the thought of him being the object of someones’ affections. From the start he’s never understood your love for him, ever wondering why of all people he would earn your devotion. You don’t fit him right, at least that’s what he tells himself because anything else would be self sabotage. You’re wonderful, you’re kind - you work as a docent at an art museum for free, you spend your time volunteering to help people, and in every person you look for the good. He’s quite literally the exact opposite; he looks for the worst, and rests his decisions on what he sees. The worst he’s ever seen in you is a lack of care for yourself in place of your intrigue in him.

You’re standing beside him - always to his right - as he watches the massive billboards flicker different advertisements. The rain that falls doesn’t do much, barely frosting his nose but you’re rubbing your hands together to keep from the freeze. The fluorescent light that falls like dust upon your skin illuminates the red in your cheeks, and the light in your eyes is just as bright as ever; that never changes. You never change. He’s brought this up several times, but you insist you’re always bettering yourself, and recently he’s been wondering how you attempt at bettering perfection.

Only when you turn to him, half a smile on your face, does he realize that he’s been staring at you, his mouth almost hanging open. He wants to turn away, the intensity of your simple attention burning his cheeks and hinting tears to his eyes, but he doesn’t. In a moment of rare normality he manages to keep looking at you, almost mimicking your smile with tiny quirks at the edges of his lips, and at the intimacy of his echo of your smile makes you grin, thoughtless and intrinsic.

The sidewalk isn’t particularly crowded, but it’s not empty - most everyone is huddled underneath the bus stop roof, but you’re still beside him without complaint. Rain brings a silence, a specific one that he enjoys very much; a silence where no one is talking. You know how much he likes that silence, and as always you do what he likes. You don’t talk, you don’t say a word, you certainly don’t mention what he wishes you’d bring up.

He barely says your name, hell, he can barely hear himself say it, but you still turn to him, ever vigilant for his voice. There’s an expectant twinkle in your eye, innocent and he still can’t understand how you’re excited to hear him talk, because that’s what you are - you’re excited. He can see that in your eyes, in your posture and composure, you want to hear him and whatever it is he has to say. The thought of it is nearly too much, so much that he wonders if saying your name was a good idea in the first place, but you’re still watching him expectantly by the time he’s gone through his thoughts.

At last he asks, ‘how can I let myself be loved?’ and though you’re clearly surprised you show little aversion to the questions’ subject. You try your best to answer, but as with every question love may bring, it isn’t ever easy.

First you say, ‘you need to respect yourself first, and be aware that you are lovable,’ and he thanks whatever listens that the words you use are ones he can understand. ‘You have to know that whomever loves you will always love you.’

You say, ‘real love is never fleeting.’

You say, ‘it’s simple for some people to let themselves be loved,’ and you say, ‘it’s alright if you aren’t one of those people. I wasn’t either.’

And so you’re like him - just as broken, with your devotion locked away, but you’ve learned to love. You’ve learned why you love, how you may love, and you’ve learned how to let yourself be loved, even if you were just like him.

Maybe he can learn too. Maybe you’ll love him long enough for him to find out how all this messy fondness fits together, maybe he’ll be able to love you forever - you’re ever caring, endlessly perfect and wonderfully bright, and he knows he’d give all he knows to burn away in your light. It’s endearing, though, how someone as holy as you could cast your worship to someone so below you, and he wonders what he would do with himself if he let you love him. If he let your fondness for him seep through his locks, your tenderness to caress a part of him he’s hardly ever known.

So he asks - it’s a moment he hates to be in, but it passes soon over, the words come fumbling out of his mouth but you mostly understand him. He asks, ‘will you always love me?’

And you reply, ‘invariably, Elliot.’

[windwardstar]

I know we’re in some trying times right now, but I have a writing question: If someone has no ability to feel emotions, would they still have aspirations and motivations to do things aside from survival? I’ve seen goals and emotions linked together a lot, and emotionless characters often portrayed as not appreciating art or not helping those in need. Those stereotypes just don’t feel all the way there for me, you know?

Ok. So first off, my brain is in “long interconnected thought” mode and I apologize for the walls of text. I can’t brain enough right now to break them up. (Also I’m leaving out so many thoughts... sorry.) I hope it makes sense.

Secondly, I think you’re hitting two main categories of the “no ability to feel emotions” characters. 

The first is the heavily autistic coded ones (robot, “emotionless” super genius) and “cold emotionless killer” (basically throw a dart at a list of villains, you’ll find one) which hits the “not appreciating art” (not getting it, not seeing the point of it) and the “not helping those in need” (being portrayed with no or low empathy, often villainized or just a straight up villain). When done well, the story goes on to show the character has feelings and just doesn’t show them to other people or struggles with expressing them in ways other people understand  or just struggles with recognizing their own emotions (and then veers off into the ableism + aromisic HOV lane by showing romantic love is what makes them human). When done badly it’s just a mess of ableism demonizing low empathy and showing the “lack of emotions” makes the person EVIL and etc. These characters generally don’t have difficulty making goals or having aspirations or enjoying non-survival based things. But, when they do, it’s generally linked to the narrative not giving the character any agency or thoughts of their own and dehumanizing the character.

The other is the traumatize, depressed, and oppressed- basically, the characters who are focused on survival because just surviving is a huge fight. Numbing of emotions and a lack of future oriented thoughts (goals, aspirations) are actually symptoms of mental illness (Depression and PTSD). If someone is focusing all their energy on making it through the day and don’t know if they’re going to be alive tomorrow, having goals for the future can become really hard to contemplate. (”Where do you see yourself in five years?” when “dead” is the answer, it can be really hard to come up with a “goal” answer.) The “not appreciating art” also falls into that. Like, sometimes art is what gets people through when they’re focused on basic survival because it /can/ make the person feel /something/ but also if the person’s emotions are numbed and they’re not feeling them, and they look at art and don’t feel anything because their emotions are numbed, yeah, it’d be pretty hard to “appreciate” the art. Hope is also an emotion. Motivation is an emotion. These are things you feel. And when your body is shutting down emotions as a survival mechanism or as part of a chemical imbalance in the brain, those get lost too. (mind you, this is all the extreme end of “all the emotions are numbed, existing itself is numbed” and most people exist somewhere along the spectrum of “not feeling anything” vs “feeling everything” and can have various levels of numbness and apathy and difficulty with future oriented thoughts. So, whether or not the character has goals for the future would really be up to the writer.) 

One of the biggest places this type of stuff is shown in is with characters (communities) who have “given up” (read: lost hope) and who need the protagonist to give them hope to fight back and keep going etc etc etc. Generally, this is shown from an outsider’s perspective, frames the “giving up” as a problem rather than a legitimate survival strategy and that all they need is a rousing speech, then everything is magically all better and everyone is happy and healed once the village is freed from the evil overlord. It falls flat because it’s not actually about the communities and people struggling but the protagonist and doesn’t show the effects or the healing process.

It’s also seen with individuals in fiction, and also then tends to magically resolve shit for the characters (which just isn’t realistic) so that the author doesn’t have to write any long term effects of mental illness or actually write a mentally ill character. (And also tends to frame the associated constellation of symptoms as a character flaw or inherent weakness as opposed to a survival mechanism.)

so really, the problem with a lot of the portrayals it the huge amounts of ableism.  ya know?

[writingmyimagines]

Shot Through the Heart - Pt 1

Billy Hargrove X Reader

A/N: Hi all, this is my first imagine on this blog and it will in fact be a series. I am still playing with the title, so it may change, but as of now it is from You Give Love a Bad Name by Bon Jovi. This chapter introduces you as a character and establishes where the plot is going, let me know if you have any feedback!

Warning: cursing

Word Count: 1.9k

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You watched as the sun rose, a sleepless night behind you. Your radio hummed in the background, quietly playing Bruce Springsteen, and you turned your attention back to the speckled ceiling waiting for the inevitable. Today was January 10th, the first day of school since you had recessed for winter break. ‘Stupid school,’ you muttered.

Moments later, the alarm blared, signaling your normal 6:20 AM wake up time. And you rolled out of bed, before quickly getting into action. Rolled up jeans, adidas sneakers, hair spray, your fur lined jean jacket, and a bit of lip gloss later and you were ready to go. 

Hurriedly, you ran downstairs as your mother called, “(Y/N), breakfast is ready!” Taking two steps at a time, you hopped down and reached for the plate of eggs and french toast being presented to you. It seems your dad had already left the house given his empty coffee cup and syrup smothered plate. Your younger sister on the other hand was already gobbling down eggs, staring at you before blathering, “Impf alrady rally late.” Distantly, you processed what was said, and began to eat violently fast, glancing at the clock that read 7:03, “Shit.”

“Language! Although you two do need to get out the door.” You couldn’t help, but roll your eyes before inhaling the rest of your plate and running up to kiss your mom on the cheek, a bit of syrup sticking to her skin. You snatched your bag off the hook by the doorway, calling, “I was going to hang out with Britt and Robin today, can you take care of Cassie?”

You hardly waited for the response, swinging open the door and being met with a sharp breeze of cold Indiana air. Distantly, there was some kind of approval and Cassandra ran past you, heading straight for your ‘79 Chevy. She was a bit old and didn’t always run great, but she was yours, and god you loved her. You followed suit, accidentally slamming the door, and immediately revving her up.

The radio hummed on your way to the middle school, dropping Cassie off. Hardly stopping, you ushered her out and yelled, “Have a good day! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

She ran off and you glanced at the clock again, 7:20. So you put the pedal to the metal, screeching into the parking lot at 7:26 like a bat out of hell, your tires having burnt some serious rubber on the turn in. Several shocked faces glanced at you, everyone making their own way to the first day of school this calendar year. You hurried out, knowing that your 7:30 AM chemistry class was at the very end of the building and you would have to hurry up. But by some stroke of luck, one of your dearest friends Brittney caught up to you as you ran into the bustling halls of your high school. She bumped into your shoulder aggressively, “Good to see you too. Don’t tell me that screeching was you in the parking lot?”

You gave out a guilty laugh, before confirming, “Yeah, I guess I was running a little late. New year, I wanted to make sure my hair looked nice.” You gently messed with your carefully styled hair, before she oooh’d at you, “Trying to impress anyone, are you? You know, Damien in your biology class is pretty cute, Robin says he can play guitar too.”

You winked at her, before waving her off, “Nah, gotta focus on finishing college applications! You think I want to be stuck in Indiana for the rest of my life? No thank you.”

“Well with your grades, you should be fine, Miss Soon-to-Be Valedictorian.” You laughed at her, lightly punching her shoulder and whining, “You don’t know that! Don’t put those far off dreams in my head.” 

So yes, you were good at school, very good at school; so good in fact, you were applying to Stanford, Brown, Yale, and Harvard. They were distant dreams, but if anyone in this god forsaken small town had a chance, it was you. This also meant that yes, you guys were nerds, but luckily not outcasts. The three of you didn’t bring enough attention to yourselves that you got bullied, but you weren’t exactly popular either. Or really, anywhere near popular. The closest you had gotten was Tommy H has made a passing comment about Britt’s “rack” once, so yeah, not really your scene.

But you were dragged from your thoughts as the one minute warning bell rang and you and Britt sat down in the dusty chemistry lab room, sadly knowing Robin had band first thing in the morning. And it didn’t take your graying, wheezing instructor but ten seconds to start droning on about balancing chemical reactions and the proper way to go about it. Seems like it would be another exciting day at Hawkins High.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The school day had quickly come to a close and you began making your way to your little trio’s meeting spot; the music room. Your last class was Literature, and you shared it with none of your friends, so you were quietly humming to yourself, making your way to the adjacent arts building when the vice principal stopped you. Mr. Eldridge gave a small smile, before inquiring, “Mrs. (Y/L/N)? Yes, I need to see you in my office really quickly if you have a moment, nothing bad of course, just a little something.”

You tried not to raise your eyebrow at the careful lilt in his voice towards the end of the phrase, almost as if he was hiding something. You pushed a smile onto your features and nodded, quietly following him into the musty office of his. There, a puke green carpet cushioned your steps as you fell into quite possibly the most uncomfortable neon office chair you had ever had the displeasure of being in. 

He rested his bony hands on the oak desk and you watched him questioningly, nodding almost as if urging him to tell you what was going on. He started loudly, “As you know, I am in charge of all student’s academics and well-being here at Hawkins High and as such, I want every single student to do well.” You nodded carefully, wondering why he was telling you all this. “Well, I wanted to try a new program of sorts. You are an exemplary student Ms. (Y/L/N), top of the class, involved in several clubs, engaged in volunteering, and an all around sweet girl.” You smiled a bit more proudly, not hating hearing your own praise. “As such, we figured you would be the best candidate to lift others up with you.” Here is where you started getting suspicious, what on Earth did he mean by that?

Your eyebrows lifted and he continued, “As I mentioned, I want all students to succeed, and unfortunately, some students here don’t take their studies as seriously as you do. So some of the faculty and I thought to do a Student-to-Student program of sorts. Essentially, we’ll be pairing you with a student that is struggling and you will meet with them a couple of days a week. You can study together, offer them tips, perhaps encourage volunteering or extracurriculars? Your job is to try to encourage them to be a better student, and more importantly, a better person.”

Gears in your brain were slowly cranking as you deciphered what this meant. So he wanted you to mentor someone? As if the dead-beats at this school would give a shit, none the less agree to this. It was clear that higher education wasn’t the uhhh, right path for some. 

Yet, he went on, “We wanted to test out this program with you and one other student given your absolutely stunning record. If it goes well, then we can further this program and hopefully improve the lives of all youth that walk through these hallowed halls!” He glanced proudly around his office, glancing longingly at his own high school graduation portrait before glancing back around. He let out a heavy sigh, but perked back up, waiting for your answer.

You weren’t exactly convinced though, this sounded like a lot of effort and to be rewarded with what? You knew that this wasn’t going to be transformative for anyone and was more than likely a waste of time. “I’m sorry sir, but I am not sure I have the time to do this. As you mentioned, my schedule is quite packed and I am in the process of applying to quite a few colleges, as well as balancing my clubs and spending time with family…”

You trailed off, but he interrupted, “Ah, but perhaps I can help that. We can put on your resume that you helped this program get off the ground, mentored another student, proving yourself as a leader. You would be the first student to do something like this in all of Hawkins, maybe even all of Indiana. Aren’t colleges always looking for leadership and initiative?” He had a glint in his eye and you sighed. This would look stellar, and unfortunately, you were lacking a bit in the leadership department. But you would be missing a lot. But none of that would matter if you got into the college of your dreams. ‘Well, it might be for the best.’

“Sir, how often would this be?” And he laughed boisterously, knowing that he had gotten you in. “But a mere two days a week and every other Friday afternoon. Just an hour in the library, nothing you aren’t capable of. And we wanted to run this for a month or two, just to see how it goes.”

You nodded slowly, mulling things over. You would be missing time with your dear friends, but this could very well be the edge you need to get into an Ivy League. Another sigh escaped your lips, and you nodded. “Well sir, sign me up, I’ll do it.”

He nodded, his lips breaking into a large smile and his hands clapping together. It seems that he was more worried about this than he had let on. He chortled, “Amazing, simply amazing Ms. (Y/L/N), you don’t understand how great that is to hear, and I will be happy to write any recommendation letters or help in any way I can. Can you start tomorrow, Tuesday afternoon?”

Well that was quick, and your features showed your surprise, but you nodded. Seems that your schedule was about to change quite a bit. 

“Fantastic! Just go to the library after school and we’ll send in your mentee.”

You nodded again and began to reach for your bag as he was getting up as well. You made a mental note to write this in your planner as your feet lead you to the door. And your heart beat faster, getting nervous at the thought of basically being responsible for another student’s life when you turned back towards this thinning man, and you questioned, “Oh I nearly forgot sir, who should I be looking for tomorrow? Or rather, who will I be working with?”

He took a moment, heading to the door as well when he pursed his lips and you became suspicious immediately. Surely it was gonna be some druggie or someone who just didn’t care, nothing too hard to deal with, you knew the type. But the words that left his mouth stunned you, “You’ll be working with Mr. Billy Hargrove.” And his door slammed shut.

Billy fucking Hargrove. Unbelievable.

[cmtrydrve]

            hey ! my name’s link , i go by he/they pronouns , am 21+ & live in the cst timezone ! my only personality trait is being a bts , sment & girl groups enthusiast . i’m an aries sun with a pisces moon , which means i can be aggro , am always loud & obnoxious , but am a secretly sensitive softy , so plz be nice to me !!! this is my child , mikey , who’s stuck in 2006 & never grew out of his emo phase ( take that , mom ! ) . he’s also an aries , because my jjks always end up like that . hopefully , you’ll love him as much as i already do ! under the cut , you’ll find some misc . info & wanted connections . here are links to his dossier page & his pinterest board , which will hopefully give you some deeper insight . i’m excited to be here & write with you all ! like this if you’d like to plot & i’ll fly to your ims , but also feel free to add me on d*scord ( it’s easier for me as well ) : no brain only loving bts#6669 !

— jeon jungkook. he/they. demiboy. | was that michael “mikey” kwon i just saw in the hideaway lobby ? i hear the twenty-two year old spends most of their time working as a record store clerk / studying communications , but i’ve always just seen them dyeing their hair different colors with kool-aid . they live in 3c and i often see them in the halls. they always give me a vibe of getting into arguments online , an entirely black wardrobe and drinking six cups of coffee to make it through the day . 

misc . info :

his parents are both very hip artists who met & fell in love while attending art school. they’re both very modern kind of parents, which meant that mikey grew up around a lot of self-expression (& being told to try it for himself), paint everywhere & pot.

growing up, he was allowed to paint his walls & even ceiling however he pleased & it instilled a love of creativity in him. his parents still have paintings he did as a child hanging up on their walls & fridge. even now, he still draws casually, though it was always a hobby for him & not his actual passion.

his parents are extremely caring & understanding. as a teenager, they allowed him to go out & party & always made sure to get him home safely. mikey genuinely can not remember a single time they ever yelled at him even when he fucked up massively. so he tries his best to make sure they’re happy & taken care of. but they’re adamant in supporting whatever mikey wants to do.

they were both the alternative types, which meant that rock music filled their home. mikey was familiar with classic rock from a young age & the sounds of fleetwood mac & other similar bands fills him with a warmth that can only be attained from childhood nostalgia.

his first taste of love came at the age of seven. his parents always brought home new albums to listen to & his dad purchased three cheers for sweet revenge by my chemical romance. while the screaming & raging instruments could have been too much for anyone else his age, mikey embraced it fully.

it ignited an adoration for the genre as a whole & soon enough, his parents were bringing home various emo music albums to sate the always dramatic & over-reacting mikey. for christmas, he received mcr’s discography (at the time, just two albums) on vinyl, which he still has hanged proudly on his wall as an adult.

he owns every variation of every mcr album now. vinyl, cd, cassettes. he even collects the japanese versions because he likes the way they’re designed.

he dropped the name mike / michael because of mikey way & he refuses to answer to anything else.

even though it’s largely part of “cringe culture” now (which mikey refuses to participate in), he loves hot topic & goes there whenever he can. his closet is full of band tees & he has a drawer filled with those spiky belts, bracelets & pants with the suspenders from his teenage years.

he’s been dyeing his hair regularly since he was twelve. he’s had every color under the sun. this is what his hair currently looks like but he dyes the highlights with kool-aid, so the color is always changing.

he has a nostril piercing & would probably get more done if someone so much as implied that he should.

he has a mcr stan twitter account & he gets into fights with everyone he decides has a wrong opinion. he’s been suspended multiple times for being too aggressive online, but he always comes back. he also has a tumblr account but he just uses it to reblog pictures of gerard way (his bias KJHFDKJ).

he works at a record store & goes to school for communications. he hopes to either be a radio dj or podcast host. he wants to get paid to talk about how much he loves music either way. but he loves his current job because he gets to talk about music all day and recommend albums to people. also it’s helpful in perfecting his own vinyl collection.

yes, he cried the day mcr broke up & yes he bought tickets to all their reunion shows. he took the day off when the tickets went on sale & his boss was understanding, knowing how much he loves the band.

he’s extremely impulsive. if you tell him to do anything, he more than likely will. he has a lot of stupid scribbled tattoos on him for this reason, especially on his hands.

while he doesn’t mind appearing masculine & even embraces it, he doesn’t fully align with being a man. he started identifying as nonbinary in his teens, but has never felt 100% a man his whole life. he’s fine with both he or they pronouns for the most part, though he does have his preferences day to day. he introduces himself as nonbinary so it’s not a secret & everyone who interacts with him is aware.

he’s kind of a party animal. he’s that loud person who drinks too much & ends up blacked out on the floor.

he gets in trouble a lot, because he plays music very loudly at both his workplace & his apartment. but he’s of the opinion that if music is too loud for you then you’re just too old.

he’s aggressive & very arrogant. he will fight you about anything & everything. he just likes to argue & he thinks he’s right about everything.

in typical aries fashion, he loves to flirt & be flirted with. he just adores attention & seeks out affection where he can find it. he gets crushes really easily & pursues aggressively (he’s extremely charming & good at making people feel good about themselves), but he gets bored when he actually obtains the person he desires. he’s never really seriously dated, but has had over a billion crushes in his lifetime.

thought dramatic & annoying most of the time, he’s also very loyal & has a good heart. if you’re in his circle of people he likes, then he’ll do anything for you point blank. he always tells his friends that he’d die for him & he means it.

while he tries to appear confident, he has secret insecurities stemming from being the middle child. he has issues with feeling like he’s not good enough or thinks he’s unnoticed by everyone, so he acts up by being dramatic.

he drinks A LOT of coffee, so he’s pretty much always bouncing off the walls.

he’s extremely pansexual & loud about it. if you’ve known him for longer than five minutes then you’ll find out how he wishes he could smash gerard way specifically in the helena mv to smithereens.

he very casually knows how to play guitar. he’s that person who plays wonderwall at every party.

while he’s not a fan of pop music, he knows most girl group dances & can do them well.

wanted connections :

exes (any gender. it will more than likely be something casual, like a few months or less, but we can discuss the timeline! also it can be messy or friendly. extra points if there’s lingering feelings!)

hookups / fwbs (any gender. singular experiences or regular type things)

childhood plots for those who’ve lived in seattle (childhood friends, first kisses / crushes, all that good stuff)

flirtationships that don’t go anywhere

one-sided crushes (don’t mind who has the feelings!)

mutual pining but they’re both idiots & have no idea

party buddies (can be drinking &/or smoking). emo music buddies. netflix buddies. any of these can be combined.

enemies???? (if we can decide on a suitable plot. or enemies with benefits :smirk:)

someone who knows of mikey from his stan twitter but doesn’t realize it’s him & talks shit openly about the asshole who runs the account in front of him.

on the opposite side of the spectrum, someone who he flirts with in the dms & they plan to meet up after realizing they live in the same apartment building.

tinder date (it can go well or not)

frequent customers (customers he flirts with or can’t stand because they just loiter or gets into fights with because they have bad taste in music

someone who takes advantage of mikey being willing to do anything he’s dared to do. make him do all the stupid shit he shouldn’t be doing, whether it’s getting tattoos / piercings or anything dangerous or just idiotic.

you’re sick of this asshole blasting music late at night & go to yell at him for it but oops he’s actually attractive (or you actually can’t stand him, whichever GKDHFGJFKD).

i have a huge tag full of plots i’d love to do on my rp spam blog. not all of them will be fitting for mikey but just ask me & we can try to change some elements or something!

literally anything you can think of i’m probably down for it!

[kungfu-scifi-highschool]

Considering I’ve gone the last 50 days without drinking any alcohol, I have to say that Annie Grace’s book, This Naked Mind, is the most influential book I read in 2019.

This book now sits in my martial arts section in between my Taoist meditation collection and various works on how to punch people in the face. That’s because this book is psychic dynamite. If you really like drinking, and are of the impression it’s not that big of a deal to tie one on from time to time, you don’t want to read this book.

I didn’t begin to abstain immediately after reading the book, but my perspective changed in a single day. It was one of those books that made me so uncomfortable, I had to read it all in one sitting. Something deep down wanted to argue, wanted to put it off. I knew that something would keep me from ever picking it up again. So, knowing when my first impulse is to push back on something, that I’m trying to defend my position without considering it, I instead started taking notes.

6 hours later my wife came home and I read my notes to her. I couldn’t get through them without crying. So yeah, it packs a punch.

In short, the book tackles social and cultural issues as well as the science of alcohol consumption. Not only does it cover how alcohol is marketed, the never ending campaign of you deserve a beer, it clearly lays out how alcohol changes the chemical makeup of the brain, making it impossible to perceive reality objectively long after you think you are sober.

I’ve read a number of books about addiction and alcoholism. They have each had something important to say but none have swayed me quite like this book to the mental ninjitsu of alcohol.

After each chapter I made notes. Most of which are very personal. Instead of sharing all of them, I’m picking out the one’s that are most straight forward, but it’s hard for me to hide my feelings. Here goes:

-Alcohol reduces the brain's ability to understand what is and isn’t a threat. Once it has affected your system, anything that keeps you from drinking is a threat. Family, friends, job, or hobbies.

-It’s a short term solution that has an exponential long term cost. Like borrowing money from a loan shark that charges 200% interest everyday after the original loan.

-Alcohol doesn’t make you feel better. Instead your brain’s ability to process sensation overall decreases.

-You aren’t more charming and you aren’t funnier. At least not in the way you would hope. But your ability to read social cues has lessened so you don’t notice the discomfort of others.

-The pain (often existential) remains, for when you wake up tomorrow, the pain returns often worse than before. But is hard to remember that, because alcohol affects memory. Though the alcohol allows for a short cut, or a short circuit, a quick fix as it were, to dull our social, emotional, and psychological discomfort, it can never make them go away. It actually increases our feeling of powerlessness, because “without alcohol, how else can I handle those situations?”

-Uncomfortable emotions aren’t washed away, they are suppressed. It doesn’t make us feel more comfortable or confident in social situations. Instead alcohol makes it harder to empathize with people, and so we confuse a growing sense of indifference with comfort. You don’t get better at handling situations, you just care less how they turn out.

-If it alcohol made you happy you would be filled with happiness by now.

-Claiming alcohol gives you pleasure is like saying it’s enjoyable to create blisters for the relief of taking off your shoes.

I can go on (I have 5 more pages of notes), but why try to rewrite the book? The Naked Mind made me challenge my definition of courage. It made me aware of my unconscious biases and gave me a way to examine my life more closely. It asked me to consider what I needed a break from and what I really deserved. It offered me a way to be more honest with myself and more present for the people I love.

I have another 50 days to go on my 100 day challenge of no alcohol. Why did I make that choice? I needed to see for myself what life was like without drinking. I needed to discover tools and techniques to deal with the frustrations of life without compounding them. And ultimately I wanted to discover what my best was, without giving myself an excuse for failure. Good enough isn’t my best. And I, along with my family and friends, deserve my best.

I challenge you to read this book. I understand you might be nervous, but I promise it’s worth your life.

[eldunea]

If Lotor was a Pokémon Masters character…

STATS.

LOTOR & ZOROARK. category: strike (special). type: dark. move 1: snarl move 2: night daze trainer move 1: x special attack. specialized trainer move: foul is fair—sharply raises the user’s speed and critical hit rate. sync move name: intellectual eclipse. (causes zoroark to activate bond phenomenon form until end of battle.) passive skill: illusory evasion—this pokémon is harder to hit than others. weakness: fighting.

LOTOR & ESPEON (sygna suit). category: tech. type: psychic. move 1: psychic. move 2: psyshock. move 3: toxic. specialized trainer move: power of alchemy—sharply raises special attack and special defense. sync move name: world-shattered psyche. passive skill: power of alchemy—special attack may increase when hits land. weakness: bug.

TEXT.

Basic dialogue: “Hm.” “Hmph.” “I see.” ”Well, you see…” “I do love a challenge.” “Do the impossible!” “Not a bad idea.” “I would prefer to do otherwise.” Vs. quote: “Your defeat is imminent!” Sending out Pokémon: “Let’s fight!” After Pokémon faints: “I must have miscalculated.” Level up: “My strength is incalculable!” Good Morning Message: “Every day is a day to grow and learn. Use it wisely, [player name]!” Pokémon Center Quote 1: I’m not just a scientist, you know. I’ve studied almost every field, from history to fine arts. But no matter how much I fill my life with learning…it’s simply not the same without my Pokémon. Joining you was well worth it! Pokémon Center Quote 2: On another note, what do you think Lear is up to? He may be a prince, but he certainly doesn’t act the part. A prince must be kind, humble, caring…and he’s none of those things! Who raised him? Pokémon Center quote 3: My studies tell me that Trainers’ strategies fall into two categories. There are those who win by strength, and there are those who win by deception. I prefer to win through the strength of my bond with my Pokémon. …Of course, I could prefer to win by deception, but I’ve lied and told you otherwise. (winks) Pokémon Center quote 4: It’s okay to trick your opponents. It’s very common on the battlefield to make your adversary believe one thing while actually planning another. But no matter what, you must NEVER lie to your Pokémon! That would be unforgivable! Activating Sync move quote: “Shine with the force of our minds!” Flavor text: A stubborn scholar who packs a punch. He and his Pokémon have as much brawn as they have brains, and that’s a lot of brawn!

STORY TEXT.

Honerva: The first experiment showed that the experimental version of X Special Attack increases a Pokémon’s regular move strength by a factor of one and a half. But it increases the sync move strength by a factor of four! Lotor: Well, it could be because the substance inside the X Special Attack causes differing chemical reactions according to the different proteins that are activated by the use of different attacks…Or it could simply be magic. Honerva: I say it’s magic. (Exclamation points appear over both of their heads and they turn around.) Honerva: I thought I sensed visitors. Lotor: And what brings you here? Dialogue options: 1) We want you on our team! 2) Uh…we were just wondering if… Lotor (if 1): You…you really came all this way just to… Lotor (if 2): I can tell by the look on your face. You want me to join your team for the PML, correct? Lotor: (sprite sighs and he looks to the side) I haven’t battled in ages. I’m sorry, but it’s a no. Barry: But this was a two-hour trip! Are you saying we walked all the way up here for nothing? Lotor: I didn’t come here to fight. I came here to learn. I’d be honored to fight by the side of such illustrious Trainers, but…I just won’t have the energy to join a team. Rosa: That’s not true! You studied and beat Leagues at the same time, didn’t you? Lotor: (smiles sadly) I taught myself the secrets of science while I made my way through my fair share of Leagues. That is true. But that’s not the kind of life I want to lead right now. I want all my focus to be on my work. There’s no time for distractions. (All characters look visibly disappointed.) Honerva: Son, do you mind if I have a word with these Trainers? Lotor: I won’t say no. Honerva: All right then. Come with me.

(scene cuts to outside the lab)

Barry: I know all about you. You said to Wallace that Training wasn’t a real job unless you were in a League. You were the one who tried to get Lotor to go back to school! Rosa: If you’re here to lecture us about what we love, stop right there. You’re wrong. Honerva: Oh, far from it, dear. I’m here to tell you exactly how to convince him to join you. (Barry and Rosa exchange looks of surprise.) Rosa: You have what you want from him. He’s studying with you now. Why would you help us? Honerva: In the past, I wanted nothing more than for my son to give up his profession and return to school. I used to argue with Lotor all the time about battling. I said…some truly awful things that I regret. And now that he isn’t battling anymore, I feel like he’s missing something from his very sense of self. I see now what I couldn’t see before. Battling makes his life whole. Rosa: So how do we convince him to battle again? Honerva: Lotor is as stubborn as I am—which means he’ll never back down from a good challenge. If you want his teammateship, give him a challenge that he can’t refuse. Barry: Then why don’t you do it yourself? Honerva: The decision to give up battling was ultimately his, and he hates being questioned by me. If I say a word, he’ll know what I’m up to right away. But if it comes from you, he won’t suspect a thing. (winks) Barry: Give him a challenge? What could we possibly challenge him wi— Rosa: I got it! I know exactly what to do. Come on, [player name]! Let’s go get us a new teammate!

(scene fades back into the lab)

Lotor: Oh. You’re back. Rosa: We have a challenge for you. Lotor: Which is…? Rosa: We want to fight you three-on-three. You defeat [player name] here, and we’ll go home and never bother you again. But if you lose… Lotor: I come with you and join your PML team? (shakes head) Not a chance. Barry (to Honerva): It’s not working! Rosa: O-oh really? And are you just saying that because you’re scared? Lotor: What?! Honerva: That’s right. You’re just scared of defeat, aren’t you? Lotor: No. I’m saying this because I’m being set up. Mom, I KNOW you went out there with them so you could put them up to this! Barry (to Honerva): Busted. Rosa: Please. That just sounds like an excuse. You talk big with all your League badges, but on the inside you’re just…you’re just a big fat scaredy-cat! Lotor: That’s not what I—oh, FINE. But I would like to add one more condition. Rosa: Yes? Lotor: You won’t just have to defeat me. If you want to have me at your side, you’ll have to go through my mom first. Barry: Oh, and I guess now you want to hide behind her so you can— Honerva: That’s enough. Just take the deal. (steps forward) I’ll admit I’m not much of a fighter myself, but I will do my best!

(Battle ensues, with Honerva and two scientists. Honerva battles with the Espeon that belongs to Lotor in his sygna suit.)

Lotor: Well, you certainly gave them a run for their money. Honerva: Didn’t know the world’s greatest scientist was also a damn good battler, did you? I hardly even knew myself! (laughs) Rosa: It was a pleasure, Miss Sincline. And now… Lotor: (smirks) It’s time for you to lose!

(Battle ensues, with Lotor and two scientists.)

Lotor: (hangs head and sighs) Well, you got me. Barry: Why the long face? Your mom said you loved battling. Shouldn’t you be excited? Lotor: I…I was really hoping I could stay here so I could spend some more time with my mom. She and I weren’t always on the best of terms, but now we finally have a chance to make it up to each other. Honerva: But that’s not the real reason you’re so upset, now is it? Lotor: (shakes his head) You read me like a textbook, Mom. You’re right. It isn’t. Rosa: What’s wrong? Lotor: If I tell you this, you must promise not to tell ANYONE. Barry: Sure thing. Rosa: Of course! Lotor: (closes his eyes briefly before opening them again) It’s about Lear. The man who founded this place. I’ve…I’ve met him before, and I can tell there’s something wrong with him. I wanted to believe he was a good person because he brought so much happiness to others by creating Pasio. But bad people can do good things too, and I wouldn’t put it past him to be up to something nefarious. I feel as though by participating in the PML, I’d be putting my stamp of approval on his poor character and whatever he’s hiding from us…But I suppose I don’t have a say in the matter, now, do I? Rosa: You don’t have to join us if you don’t want to. Barry: Wha— Rosa: I’m sorry. I challenged you because I didn’t know how much you wanted to avoid doing this. I shouldn’t have forced you into something you want to stay away from this badly. You can stay. Barry: But— Rosa: He’s right, though. Lear isn’t the best person in the world. And while I want to give Lear a chance, I don’t blame Lotor at all for feeling the way he does. Let’s just leave him alone. (The two of them turn around to leave.) Lotor: Wait! (Rosa and Barry whirl around.) Lotor: I’ll go with you. Rosa: But you just said— Lotor: First, though. Are we all in agreement that Lear is not a good person? Dialogue options: 1) Yes, definitely! 2) I don’t know him well enough. Lotor’s response to #1: Good. Then what I have to ask of you shouldn’t be an issue. Help me keep an eye on Lear. Lotor’s response to #2: Then I suppose helping me keep an eye on him wouldn’t hurt, would it? Lotor: And if anything goes wrong…we’ll just have to take care of him. Rosa: What do you think, Barry? Barry: I mean he’s probably not evil, but if he is, then let’s give it to him! Rosa: All right! Lotor: So…you’ll really do it? You’ll help me? Dialogue options: 1) Yes, of course! 2) You can count on us! Lotor: Excellent. I’ll pack my things immediately. Honerva: If you need someone to take you back to Pasio, I have a teleporter to send you back in a flash. I wouldn’t want you to go walking another two hours! Rosa: Thanks, Miss Sincline. Honerva: You’re welcome back here anytime.

[supertam87]

Real Talk With SuperTam

Several people have asked me to share the full text of the talk I gave at Harrison’s (SuperSon1) funeral. Dale shared an excerpt earlier today. I am happy that it has touched people and hopefully will open up some much needed dialog. Please remember that these are the words I spoke over my son’s coffin. They are sacred to me. We are a religious family. If there is something you don’t understand, I will explain without preaching to you or trying to convert you! I talk about mental illness and suicide. If that is a trigger for you, please beware.

Real Talk With SuperTam

My dear brothers and sisters – never before in my life have I understood so fully that we are all truly brothers and sisters. Your outpouring of love and support has overwhelmed us in the best way. Saying thank you and we love you and we are grateful seems too simple for all that has been done on our behalf this past 10 or so days. And yet truth is simple. The gospel is simple. What we have experienced is the gospel in its purest form. Thank you all for being here. I’d also like to thank our interpreters, Chip Royce and Jeff Born, who are friends of Dale as well as colleagues.

Harrison made it very clear that I needed to talk today and he was a little bit bossy about it. I’m one of the mouthy ones in Relief Society. You can pretty much count on the fact that either Janet Williams or I are going to say something – Janet’s comments are usually more profound, but we both usually say it like it is. Harrison asked me to say it like it is today. So, we are going to have what I’m calling Real Talk with SuperTam, (because that’s my nickname).

Harrison killed himself. Very few people want to say that. People don’t want to talk about it. People do want to talk about it but they don’t know how. It’s an unbearably painful topic. People keep telling Dale and myself that we are so brave to talk openly about what Harrison did. We never considered any other option. It didn’t feel brave to either one of us, just truthful. When a person dies of heart disease or cancer or pneumonia, we all grieve, but we don’t fear talking about why they died. Mental illness carries a heavy stigma in our society and I believe we share an obligation to have more productive and proactive conversations about a really scary and difficult topic. Mental illness is physical illness. It happens in the brain. Just like MS or Parkinson’s disease; it can be a chemical imbalance, a failure of synapses to connect properly, or an underdeveloped portion of the brain that limits its proper function. It is not different than any other illness. But it is sooo taboo. When the term ‘Mental Illness’ is mentioned, people think in extremes; severe debilitation, psychosis, the inability to work or leave the house, erratic behavior, frightening delusions – scary, scary words, yet mental illness usually doesn’t look like that. Its depression – from mild to severe, anxiety, ADHD, OCD, Anorexia, Post Partum Depression, Autism Spectrum – it can be an illness or a disorder or a dysfunction. Everyone in this room knows someone who deals with a mental illness every single day. It is often silent and very subversive, and people can feel isolated or hopeless.

Nearly every single person that I talked to, or Dale, or my parents or in-laws or our friends knows someone who has had suicide effect their family. The heartbreaking thing is that suicide is on the rise amongst our youth. Our children are dying and we are afraid to talk about it because it is uncomfortable. It is uncomfortable for me to stand here today and talk about it. But I am willing to open the conversation. I am willing to answer questions. I will listen to fears and pains, and I will try to offer comfort. I know I’m not the only one willing to do this, but I think one of the problems we collectively suffer from is fear.

Dale and I always try to teach our kids that the devil dwells in darkness and the gospel spreads light. So they should base their decisions on whether or not they have to hide what they do in darkness or if they can do it openly in the light. This is a good foundation for teaching decision-making. However, people often hide in darkness. Not because they are dark themselves, but because they are afraid. We need to learn how to recognize people who are hiding. We must practice seeing what people in pain look like. We need to commit to ourselves that we will be the person. The one who offers succor, in whatever form that takes. We need to ask questions and develop relationships that allow people to open up and be unafraid. The prophet has given us this opportunity by renaming and revamping our visiting and teaching systems to a system of Ministering. It is not just a name change. The prophet is asking us to reevaluate how we see people. He is asking us to change how we interact with people. He is asking us to make people our priority. My very first visiting teacher is here today. She was there when Harrison was born and she is still ministering to me today. It is not a coincidence that this program was reworked at a time when mental illness is on an extreme rise and suicide rates are skyrocketing. The Lord is asking us to be is hands and help his children. We need to seek the one, and we also need to be the one. Be the one who looks. Be the one who asks. Be the one who sees. We have the power to heal.

 Our family has been terribly, irrevocably wounded and changed. We are in agony. But we are being ministered to, every second of every day. Because of that, we are already beginning to heal. We have a long road ahead and we accept that, because we do not walk that road alone. The Savior walks that road with us. And so do every single one of you every time you do something that is motivated by love. The road that we walk, the same road you walk, is the path of the gospel. It guides us towards our Father in Heaven.

Harrison walked that road. He learned many, many lessons along the way. Harrison taught me about this road we walk, this path towards our Father, and our ability to partake of our Savior’s sacred atonement in his homecoming talk from August of 2016. I’m going to read part of that talk to you, because I love Harrison’s words, and this is a lesson he learned, internalized and taught to the people he was asked to minister to. And then he came home and taught it to us.

In this talk he taught the Parable Of The Laundry. This is a significantly condensed version of his talk, but I will post it in full later. He explained that before his mission, mom pretty much took care of his laundry. I gave him serious side eye on that one. He said that in the MTC, he was fully responsible for his own laundry, but he could throw his clothes in the washer and then move on to something else. When he arrive in the Philippines, he said, “In the Philippines we wash clothes by hand, and that is a little bit more of an involved process than ‘toss it in the washer with some detergent and move on to something else. I would like to describe the art of hand washing in five easy steps. They sound easy, at least. 1) Initial Rinse 2) Detergent Soak 3) the scrub 4) Final Rinse 5) Hang dry”

He described specifically the process of washing white shirts. He said of the Initial Rinse, “Slosh the clothes around in the water until all the loose dirt is out. The water will change colors as you do this, from the pale yellow of sweaty garments, to the grey cement color of over-worn socks.” Ew. Sorry for that mental image. Of the Detergent Rinse he said, “Mix until the soapy water is frothy and then re-add your rinsed clothing. Stir lightly and leave to soak for thirty minutes. Of The Scrub he said, “After the 30 minute rinse, select your scrub weapon. These range from the novice brush to the professional bare hand. Each shirt should take 5 to 10 minutes. Of the Final Rinse he said, “This is a little bit of a misnomer as it actually takes a series of 3-5 rinses…until the clothing no longer produces soap bubbles. The more soap you leave in your clothes, the itchier it will be to wear them and the dirtier they will get in the coming week, as soap attracts dirt.” Finally, “The Hang Dry. As you place each item of clothing on a hanger, smooth out any visible wrinkles. Hang in a place that A) has good air flow, B) has good sun but not direct sunlight, and C) is sheltered from the rain. In perfect conditions described above, it only takes three hours to dry your clothes. Conditions in the Philippines are never perfect and rain (a constant threat) was the worst, bringing dirt and pollution out of the air and onto your freshly cleaned clothes. White shirts will proclaim those spots, and it is time to wash again. If, due to weather, your clothes took too long to dry, they would sour, and it would be time to wash them again.” Harrison goes on to call this an “involved and grueling process that takes several hours to complete.”

He then makes the obvious analogy to the atonement, and read several important scriptures. He said, “The Atonement is the process we each must individually follow to wash ourselves of all iniquity and sin, prerequisite to entering the Kingdom of God and His Glory. Before my mission I thought in washing machine terms. Toss the garments that need to be cleansed of sin, add an appropriate amount of repentance, kick on the Atonement Machine and go do something else until you find yourself cleansed from sin. I learned that the Atonement requires much more effort than a washing machine, and the process has more in common with hand washing. Let me explain in this way: Our faith in Jesus Christ is the first step on our path of becoming eternally clean…Repentance is our detergent soak of the soul…Baptism is the opportunity we have to clean up the stains we have soaked, scrubbing them away in a symbol of the death of the old life of sin and the rebirth of a life in Christ…Receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost is the counterpart rinse to the cleansing of Baptism…Enduring to the end is the final step in the process, akin to hanging clothes out to dry. In perfect conditions, enduring to the end would be a lovely three-hour sunbath to clean, dry perfection. However, this life is a test, and conditions will never be perfect. Satan has the power to tempt us, and his temptation, like polluted rain, will stain our freshly washed souls. Even the day-to-day wear will bring more stains upon us. Hence, enduring to the end is not a static process, where we hang our garments in a hermetically sealed closet, never to be worn again. Rather, enduring to the end is the active process of keeping our garments clean as long as possible in Satan’s imperfect conditions, and washing them as they become stained and soiled. The repentance process is not the back-up plan for when our garments become unclean. Repentance IS the plan. If, at the end of our mortal lives, we have strived to keep our garments clean in the fallen world, through the process of the Atonement, then will we return to the Kingdom of our Father.”

Harrison understood, accepted and lived within the Atonement of Christ. He taught me in this one talk things about the Atonement I hadn’t really understood before – maybe because he was speaking my language because what mom doesn’t know the language of laundry? He was walking the road with us, doing his best, washing and rewashing his shirts when they got dirty. He did kill himself, but he also died because he suffered from an illness. We do not need to be ashamed of that or hide that fact. Harrison made a choice I wish he had not. He took an action he can’t take back. I know he would if he could. I know he didn’t mean to do this. But we are the ones who are left with the results of his actions. What do we do with that? Do we live within the atonement of Christ? Do we refuse to let fear keep us from speaking when speaking is necessary? Do we reach out, see a person, offer love and provide acceptance? Do we hide in the darkness, or do we shine in the light? I know what Harrison would have us do, and I know what the Lord would have us do.

 Harrison, I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.

[the-captains-ayebrows]

I am curious about the Fall for CS story.

Hi there, Nonny! Thanks for the ask!

It was/is a grocery store meet cute between single mom Emma and Children’s Book author Killian. I had the beginning going fairly well, but I couldn’t ever figure out where the plot should go from there. 

Here’s the (unedited) part I actually wrote in case anyone is interested - with a cut so as not to clog dashboards:

“I’m hanging up now. I need both hands to park.” Not a complete lie, Emma thinks. Her ancient Volkswagen does require both hands, both feet and a little bit of Jesus-take-the-wheel to maneuver through the overcrowded parking lot. The real reason she wants to hang up on Ruby, however, is because she’s so tired of hearing--

“So whatcha buying at the grocery store today? More chocolate? You know it’s been scientifically proven that chocolate produces the same brain chemicals as an orgasm, so why not just--”

“Ruby, no.”

“You can’t argue with science, Emma.”

“I’m not arguing with science, I’m arguing with you. For the millionth time, I do not need to get laid. I’m fine. Not to mention I don’t have time for a guy, between work and Henry and--”

“You’re telling me you don’t have six minutes for scientific purposes?”

“No, I do not have--Wait, six minutes?”

Emma can actually hear the leer in Ruby’s voice. “If you’ve got a partner who knows what they’re doing.”

“I don’t know whether to be horrified or impressed right now.”

“Both. Definitely both.”

“Okay, but the thing is, I’m parked now. Gotta go. Bye.”

“Fine, fine. Go buy a mountain of chocolate. I hope it keeps you warm at night.”

“Hey, the chocolate is for Henry’s school carnival!”

“Sure, girl. Whatever you have to tell yourself. Bye!”

With a frustrated grunt and grinding of gears, Emma shifts her beloved yellow Beetle into park. Not that kind of frustrated. Ruby’s wrong. Very very wrong.

She continues to muse on how wrong Ruby is as she yanks a shopping cart free from the cart barn just inside the sliding glass doors. Emma Swan’s life is full, overflowing even. Especially this year when Henry finally has Mary Margaret for a teacher after years of wishing to be in “Aunt M&M’s” class, because of course, when one of your best friends is your son’s teacher you find yourself volunteering for all sorts of school activities. Almost as if your name appears on the parent sign-up sheet by magic. Kinda like how she’d found herself responsible for buying all the candy for the 5th grade class booth at Storybrooke Elementary’s Halloween Fest.

Emma swerves at the last second to avoid smashing her cart into a card table set up at the end of an aisle, and whose bright idea was it to put that thing there? She mutters an apology to the vaguely man-shaped individual sitting there, but doesn’t give him much more thought.  Probably a poor schmuck getting paid minimum wage to annoy people into changing their cable provider or some such bullshit. She takes a hard left and continues on her way. The guy might have said something to her as she passed, but it didn’t register. All she wants to do is grab a gluttonous amount of candy--most of which is definitely for Henry’s school carnival--and go home. To a nice glass of wine. And to not thinking about Ruby’s commentary on her love life.

Emma dutifully loads bag after bag of “fun size” candy bars into her cart. Maybe she grabs a few extra of her favorites, but those aren’t for her. It’s for the kids. She’s a damn saint. Henry should be happy with her at least. Operation Sugar Coma or whatever catchy little name he’s come up with for his class booth ought to be a complete success.

As Emma strolls down to the end of the aisle before making her way back up the next toward the check out, she falls into that a special kind of supermarket trance that only a mom who’s finally getting to do the shopping without her kid along can understand. Eyes glazed over. Colorful packaging and fellow shoppers passing by all strangely out of focus. Actually able to hear her own thoughts. That is, until--

“I’m coming to your house, love.”

The voice snaps Emma back to alertness, her wide-eyed stare finally landing on the guy at the table she is now passing for the second time. Her instincts put her immediately on the defensive, ready to maul this creep who is… who is…

Who is mischievously grinning at her with perfect white teeth and a wry tilt to his full, sensuous lips. And if he were just a pretty mouth, it’d be bad enough, but the rest of his face is pretty damn pretty, too. He dips his chin, looking up at her through unfairly long eyelashes and raises his dark eyebrows encouragingly. Her reply, when she finally remembers to make one, is a profound and very badass-

“Huh?”

He leans back in his cheap, plastic folding chair and gestures lazily to her cart. “You’ve got the good candy. I’d surely enjoy a piece.”

Her pulse jumps. She isn’t even really sure why. He said it completely straight-faced, but there was just… Just a little quirk of his eyebrow or flicker of his tongue behind his teeth or… Nuh-uh. Nope. She’s in no mood for nosy best friends or flirty cable guys. She tightens her grip on her cart handle.

“Nice try, but these goodies aren’t for you.” She puts as much sneer into her voice as she can and stalks off, the sound of his laughter behind her eventually fading into the ambient noise.

She’s halfway to the register when she realizes there are a few more items she should probably pick up while she’s at the store. Bread, milk, toilet paper, Lunchables. You know, actual non-chocolate groceries. Still, she forces herself to walk all the way down to the produce section before turning her cart so the smart-mouthed stranger doesn’t get the idea she’s hiding from him or something.

Because she’s not hiding. Emma Swan does not hide. Avoid maybe, but not hide. Honestly she’s not even thinking about him anymore, not much anyway.

Maybe his stupid smirky face popped into her head while she internally debated whether Henry would notice if she bought generic mustard and funnelled it into the empty French’s bottle. And maybe while she grabbed a week’s worth of lunches from the frozen section, it occurred to her that he must be freezing sitting so close to the ice cream with the top buttons of his shirt undone like that. God, man-cleavage is so cheesy. That’s probably why the cable company put him there. Some flirty, enticing little treat to lure in all the female shoppers. Or hell, maybe the male ones, too. Who was she to judge?

Well, it wouldn’t work on her. Emma had a will of iron and a Netflix subscription, so she didn’t need anything this guy had to offer. And if he tried to chat her up again she’d tell him so. Again. Except that…

She realizes that what she thought were pamphlets on his table are the wrong size. They look more like… books? Kid books, probably, if the brightly colored cover art is anything to go by. The closer she gets to the table, the more apparent it becomes that the guy is a) attempting to sell said books and b) not doing a very good job of it. Most of the shoppers that pass don’t even look at him (like how?) and the few that do just wave him off and go on their way.

He seems really bored and kinda lonely and it tugs at something in Emma’s gut. She remembers feeling alone and invisible. Nowadays she has a son she loves to pieces and a handful (yeah, Ruby is definitely a handful) of well-intentioned if meddlesome friends, but she still remembers. So, she decides to go talk to the guy. Throw him a bone, or whatever. Not that kind of bone.

He doesn’t look up as she approaches, focused instead on the sharpie he’s fiddling with. Admittedly the rolling movement of his fingers as the pen twirls from knuckle to knuckle is distracting as hell, and it takes some effort for her to redirect her attention to the cover of a book.

“Killian Jones?”

He perks up instantly. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me?”

His smile is dazzling and his eyes are a little too blue. It does weird fluttery things to Emma’s stomach. She’s not about to stand for that. She glances pointedly at a stack of books.

“Just reading the cover.”

His smile dims and the hand holding the sharpie reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “Ah. I see. I’d honestly be surprised if you had. We self-published types rarely attain much in the way of name recognition. Otherwise I wouldn’t be hawking my wares in a grocery store.”

Well, shit. Now she feels even more awkward. She came over here to… Well, she’s not really sure why she came over here, but it wasn’t to be a buzzkill.  She tries again, picking up the top book in the stack and turning it over in her hands without really looking at it.

“So, you’re the author then?”

He nods. “Indeed. Though, erm, you’re not exactly the target demographic of that particular work.”

It’s then that Emma notices the cutesy drawing of a puppy dressed as a pirate, complete with a little hook on one paw and a trick-or-treat bag clutched in the other. It’s actually pretty adorable and Emma finally lets a tiny hint of smile break through.

“Jolly Roger, huh? So the puppy decides to be a pirate for Halloween?”

“Aye. You see, it’s a bit sad at first because Roger doesn’t want to go to his friends’ Halloween party. They’re all dressing up as superheroes and he doesn’t think he can be a hero because he’s missing one paw. Fortunately he has a big brother puppy to set him straight and teach him that he doesn’t have to be like everyone else. It might even be more fun to be a little different. So they decide on Captain Hook for a costume, Roger goes to the party and wins the costume contest.”

Okay well that’s charming. She’s officially charmed. Dammit. She can hear Ruby’s voice cackling somewhere in the back of her mind. “You know, my son may be a little old for picture books, but I do have a best friend who’s an elementary school teacher. She might be interested in some of your books for the school library. Do you have a business card, or…?”

Now his original smirk is back in full force as he stands and withdraws a card from the pocket of his very, very well-fitted jeans. He leans closer holding the card between two fingers, and Emma eyes can’t to decide where to look. At the card, which is conveniently located right next to the open placket of his shirt, thus putting an enticing view of chest hair in her line of sight. Or into his eyes which seem to be twinkling at her. Or worst of all at his lips which seem to be saying something… Oh right, she should probably be listening right now.

“If you wanted my number love, you needn’t stand on ceremony.”

Emma snatches the card from his hand and rolls her eyes. “Does that routine work on all the moms?”