#can we just acknowledge the mental gymnastics my brain is doing right now

[spectralwebs]

*Something bad happens*

Me: this is somehow entirely My Fault

#can we just acknowledge the mental gymnastics my brain is doing right now #it's almost impressive #the robot speaks #negative

[ghitathepanda]

At some point I think about some of the quests in Genshin, particularly Mona and the event featuring her that also has Scaramouche showing up for the first time because teleportation is a thing Mona does and I think about how in gameplay we can just teleport around to specific areas and yet in-story it's clear we kinda had to REALLY walk all the way to the different checkpoints.

Obviously this isn't something to think too hard about, right? It's just a fast travel feature to make things easier for players to navigate and makes backtracking less painful. It is sure, but I like to exercise my brain a little bit and also, the existence of the teleport waypoints are a thing that has in-universe explanations. In the story, it's during the 1.6 event where the characters actually acknowledge their existence and Paimon SPECIFICALLY brings up the PORTABLE waypoints that we sometimes make, but then again, the waypoints in the rest of Teyvat were just always present at where they were but people don't really know what they do except maybe helping em nagivate because they produce lights so people know where to go, which would be how the in-universe characters in the 1.6 event storyline actually treat the waypoints.

The description says that only to the foreign traveler that they know of its true purpose. The description didn't outright say "teleport" is the in-universe purpose but Inazuma's Katheryn does mention teleport and traveler desperately wanting to follow her teleport so it's clear that the knowledge of the waypoints functioning the way they are isn't limited to the "self-insert traveler" (which is us the player, who aren't "traveler the character", which would be Lumine or Aether as their own character). But one could also interpret it as the Traveler knowing what they are but not exactly having figured out how to teleport in-universe. Thing is, it's clear in the game's story that the Traveler and Paimon never use the waypoints to teleport despite this and they really canonically always walk/run their way to their destinations, as evidenced by their interactions with certain characters or how some of the quests' plot points or whatever only makes sense if the Traveler canonically in-universe make their way on foot. One would say that in the absence of other people around, Traveler and Paimon only then use the waypoint teleports to move elsewhere but even in-universe there are things that don't make sense with that idea. For instance, during the liyue arc where the Traveler and Paimon went to the mountains to look for the adepti, one would assume they would've just teleported their way there but the Millelith apparently caught up with em as if everyone proceeded on foot.

Well the one idea I have that could explain this actually is that Paimon herself doesn't actually know those teleport waypoints work the way they are. I even checked footage of early game stuff and while Paimon helps tutorialize plenty of stuff in-universe, she never said a single thing about the teleport waypoints, so I came to the conclusion only the Traveler (and Katheryn) knows this. This also explains why in-universe Paimon and Traveler react to certain things as if they can't just teleport to make things easier. I mentioned earlier that it's likely that the Traveler doesn't actually know how to teleport in-universe despite knowing their purpose because otherwise they would've let Paimon in on how these things work.

Now Inazuma is a topic that requires some mental gymnastics to justify certain things. For one, we have certain world quests and one specific daily commission (though as a hidden solution rather than a requirement) as well as specific event storylines that require moving in and out of Inazuma even though in-game we can't simply move in and out without teleporting until we do Raiden Ei's Act 2 quest and that makes sense. There is one thing about story quests that not many people actually noticed in the grand scheme of things. Outside of a few specific quests that must be completed before certain Archon Quests or other Story Quests, these don't necessarily happen in the order in which these quests are released or in relation to the archon quests available at the time of their release.

Zhongli's Act 2 of his story quest requires you to have at least completed Act 4 of Chapter 1, due to the Traveler inquiring Zhongli about certain plot points from that quest. That Story Quest was released in version 1.5 with 1.4 being the update containing the previously mentioned Archon Quest and 1.6 containing the follow up to the archon quest. When you focus only on the Archon Quest's timeline of events however, you can't exactly fit that story quest anywhere in between Chapter 1 Act 4 and Chapter 2 because Chapter 2 begins with the Traveler still clearly having only recently still trying to process the prior Archon Quest's baggage. Minor out of order timeline examples include meeting Diona as a hangout quest canonically happening before Jean's story quest despite Jean's story quest being part of the initial proper release while both Diona and her hangout being added way after.

What I'm trying to say is that you could pretend that in-universe by the time we can actually finish a lot of the quests involving moving in and out of Inazuma, Ei's Act 2 had actually happened somewhere in between initially receiving the quests and actually travelling to finish the quests. Heck, when you think about it, Zhongli's Act 2 can only really happen after Chapter 2. Idk if completing Ei's Act 2 makes Atsuko's world quest involving the Bake-danuki be completely unavailable or if the game would force you to complete the world quests before then. The latter would make this theory harder BUT... and I do mean BUT, one can assume at least with finishing Act 3 of Chapter 2 we're gonna pretend the Traveler hitched a ride with Beidou back to Liyue, at least with some of these quests, because the storm would still be up but Beidou can still move through the whole thing. So yeah now I wanna use my alt account which has yet to leave for Inazuma to see if I can accidentally lock myself out of world quests

Back to the topic of the whole teleport thing is the 2.5 event featuring the edgier alternate Enkanomiya, because getting into Enkanomiya in the first place involves the kind of journey to the center of the whole thing in a way that makes making it back to Watatsumi Island impossible unless those soldiers can actually make use of the teleport waypoints, so I'm gonna assume in-universe that everyone can make it out back into Watatsumi no problem with a specific method that us players are not privy to.

So where am I going with this? Well essentially, there's a bit of a narrative disconnect between the in-universe existence and function of the teleport waypoints and how plot progression hinges on the player charater in-universe not actually using them unlike the players themselves and so this whole mental gymnastics in how the whole thing in-universe plays out without relying on teleport waypoints

#genshin impact #genshin #aether #lumine #paimon #random lore talk #theory maybe? #theory

[spectrumed]

4. body

Do I have body issues? Well... yeah. Who doesn’t? I absolutely do not like being fat, that’s something I’d change about me. And I probably should bulk up a little, go to the gym. My diet isn’t terrible, I don’t eat any fast food, but I could still always eat healthier. More greens, less beans. But most of all, my biggest body issue is that I don’t really associate myself with my body. My mind feels disconnected from my body. The day scientists invent a way for us all to live as brains in jars on wheels, I’m there standing in line for a chance to become all cerebral. Being physical, it’s just so messy, so awkward, so uncomfortable. You feel pain, you feel embarrassment, you feel horny. Nothing good comes from having a body. If you were just a brain, you could go on thinking and calculating and just generally having a good mental time. Or you’d start feeling suffocated and trapped trying to move your limbs and realising that they have been all chopped off. Hmm… Maybe it’s more complicated than I initially thought.

I don’t understand people who enjoy physical activities. Let it be clear before we delve into this long rant of mine complaining about all things gymnastic, this is not particularly an autistic trait. In fact, there are plenty of autistic people who may excel as athletes, their drive and obsessive personality traits becoming quite useful in developing that discipline that is required to fully commit to becoming an all-star jock. Not all autistic people are reprehensible nerds. Some autistic people are actually quite sexy. Some even have abs. But that’s not me. That’s not my clan of autistic people. I like drawing maps. I like thinking about things. I like making cocktails. The only part of my physical body that I like to put strain on is my liver. Don’t make me go on a run. There isn’t an armchair in this world that I wouldn’t want to sit down in, even the ones that used to be owned by old chain-smokers that have that awful aroma that sneaks into your nostrils and makes you worry about second-hand lung cancer. Sitting is great. I like sitting. Also lying down. Lying down is good.

Am I lazy? No, I don’t think so. Maybe a little, but here’s the thing. I can’t control the things I obsess over. There’s a great deal of overlap between autism spectrum disorder and attention deficit disorder. If you’re reading this and you’re a fellow friend on the spectrum, you may have gotten diagnosed with both. One of those rare times in my life I have attended group therapy, more than half the group were diagnosed with both. I, however, am not. But seeing as the two conditions are so intertwined, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that a facet of autism involves difficulties in trying to focus on something, or even trying not to focus on something too hard. If you were to judge my tenacity, my ability to keep going, based solely on how I perform during physical tasks, you’d think I was the least resolute person on the planet. But then you’ll find me, some time later, staying up until four in the morning drawing another map. A map that’s really just a different take on another map that I drew earlier, that itself was a reworked version of a previous map that I drew but didn’t like, that actually began as a second iteration of one map I drew that was actually wholly different, that was based on a map of Europe but if Denmark never existed. How many maps have you drawn Fred? Why don’t you go mind your own business, you nosy ferret.

The DSM-5 (the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. You can think of it as something akin to a bible of psychology, which is definitely an inflammatory way to refer to it, but I’m gonna go with it! Because I’m a wildcard, and that’s just how I roll,) includes this section as part of its diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder.

Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus (e.g., strong attachment to or preoccupation with unusual objects, excessively circumscribed or perseverative interests).

Now, I personally don’t relate to that at all. There’s nothing abnormal in my intense love for maps. The fact that maps aren’t as widely cherished as they ought to be is a fault of others, and I refuse to acknowledge that this may be a part of my character that could be perceived as quirky, or out of the ordinary. But, still, for the sake of argument, let’s presume that I can get, at times, excessively circumscribed. I’d like to say that I’ve only ever engaged in excessive circumscribing in my privacy away from onlookers, but I am afraid that I may have allowed some of my excessive circumscribing to happen in public. I definitely do apologise for that. I will try to do better in the future. But you never know when you’re about to experience some excessive circumscribing. The best you can do is keep it limited.

I don’t know how neurotypicals work. So, you don’t feel these kinds of obsessions? These moments of intense focus? These fixations? Then, you lack passion? Are you heartless? Soulless? Or are you just weak? Are you too feeble to hold steadfast working on a project all night long? To lose touch with your sense of hunger, your need for sleep, and all contact with any other human person? My fixations may come across as strange, but to me, your lack of fixations come across as bizarre. The world is endlessly fascinating. Have you never felt that compulsion to just fully immerse yourself in a topic that allows you to forget about your physical body for just that moment in time? The body cannot hold me. I wish to absorb as much information as I can. If I could astral project, by gods, I would astral project. To decouple your consciousness from your mushy brain for just that little bit, to go soaring across the landscapes, to explore the cosmos, just free of all things corporeal, that would be swell. How terrible isn’t it, when you’re deep in research, learning all about the mystical religious practices of the long-dead hierophants of the ancient world, to be drawn back into the present by the sudden need to urinate? There is something so dreadfully mundane about possessing a human body. If only we could all be celestial beings allowed to just be without the biological needs associated with having flesh and blood and bone and bladders.

I am not religious, nor am I spiritual. I do not believe that there is an immaterial world that lies above the material. I do not believe there is an astral plane. I think that one of the terrifying things about living is knowing that we do not possess such a thing as an eternal soul, that all things are temporal, and that ultimately, we have to come to terms with that. It’s not so terrible. In some ways, the temporal nature of life can be its biggest blessing. All things must pass. Sure, that does include the good times, like that vacation you spent as a child wishing that it would never end. But it also includes the bad times. The heartbreak you feel from a failed relationship. The grief you feel after the passing of a parent. The depression some of us are burdened with. Some days are worse than others. But they too will pass. One of the remarkable things about the human body is its ability to bounce back from injury. To change and evolve in ways we sometimes find unthinkable. The brain, likewise, is transformational, capable of incredible developments. We’re not fixed in stone. We’re not eternal. Which is a good thing. It is what allows recuperation and progress. I should be thankful to my body for being there, even when I’m not. After all, isn’t your body your temple?

I am able-bodied. Am I disabled? There’s naturally a lot of questions that surround how we ought to understand mental illness or neurodiversity in regards to disability. Does autism spectrum disorder count as a disability? Well, yes, it can be considered a learning disability. It is certainly something of a handicap, you are experiencing struggles that most people don’t experience. But to your average layperson, your typical dullard who spends their time watching reality TV, drinking beer, and being happy, what counts as a disability to them? Would they see me and think I was disabled? I’m not in a wheelchair. I don’t walk with a cane. Though I will occasionally “stim,” make small repetitive moments with my hands or legs, I do not exhibit any kind of physical symptoms. If I told them that I was disabled, they’d scoff and tell me that I’m just making it up for attention. They’d say I’m probably just trying to mooch off the government, scoring welfare checks while doing nothing to contribute to society. I’ve got all my limbs. I am not sickly. I am actually quite strong, due to being a big and tall man, I am able to carry quite the load. So, I have no reason to not be a fully productive member of society, right? And yet, here I am, feeling at most times utterly perplexed by anything physical. Probably because I am just lazy, right?

I don’t think laziness is a thing. What is laziness supposed to actually be? Tiredness? If a person is perpetually tired, then they’ve likely got a sleep disorder. To call them lazy would be callous. There are plenty of overworked people that get called lazy, especially by tyrannical overseers who think of their charges as mere workhorses whose only purpose in life is to toil away in the factory until the day they die. Intolerable parents who see their terminally sullen child and instead of wondering what is making them so upset decide to deride them for their lack of ambition. Are you lazy when you are procrastinating? No you are just being a tad irresponsible, maybe, deciding to skip out on chores in order to play video games or masturbate. But you’re not just doing nothing. People generally don’t enjoy doing nothing. We need something to occupy ourselves, to fill that vacuum we all feel whenever we’re just sitting still. I am someone who appears to be comfortable just sitting still, but that’s because I’ve learned, since a very young age, to entertain myself with my own thoughts. To fantasise, to daydream, to do anything I can to escape from the void that is doing absolutely nothing. Boredom, that’s terrible. Boredom is existential dread. Of all the motivations that drive humans, love, spite, jealousy, or pride, I think the need to evade boredom is one of the most prevalent. Humans would rather experience electric shocks than sit alone in a room being bored.

I am not lazy, I am merely… excessively circumscribed. For as much as this may be a specific diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder, I think it is also a common trait amongst all humans. There will always be within us a pull to do something other than the thing that we’re really supposed to be doing, that does not make us lazy, that just makes us terrified of boredom. Sure, you know that you’re supposed to mow the lawn, but that's just so dreadfully tedious, you just would rather be working on perfecting your new stand-up comedy routine. Thinking up jokes to tell on stage is so much more stimulating than cutting grass. And who cares if your lawn grows a little wild? Lawns are a scam, imposed by fascists to make us think grass in its natural state is ugly. All grass is beautiful, whether it is cut short or it is allowed to grow long. Do the thing that fulfils you. Allow yourself to become immersed in passion, to forget about those things that hold you back, the little silly things we’ve convinced ourselves is important. Stay up late, if you wish. You’re gonna kill it on open mic night, bud!

Yes, it is a problem when your obsessions grow so singular that you forget to feed yourself. When you forget personal hygiene, when you become trapped in your own apartment looking like some feral rodent caught in a cage. Like always, the key is moderation, and I know that from time to time, you may have to entertain a boring task or two. Clean your room, brush your teeth, trim your pubic hair, try to give an impression that you are taking care of yourself. If for anyone, do it for your mother. She will be happy seeing you looking like a civilised individual, wearing clean clothes and not looking malnourished. But don’t ever chastise yourself for being lazy. Laziness is a sin that we’re all guilty of, and if we’re all guilty of it, is it really a sin? Or is it just part of what it means to be a human? To be a messy creature made out of flesh and blood and bone and the occasional bladder. In the end, I’m more happy than displeased at having a body. It’d be much harder to type on a keyboard if I didn’t have fingers.

Still, I wish I wasn’t fat.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

[moth-based-cryptology]

my stupid ass thots for youtuber au:

after als first video with face cam, people noticed a keyboard in the background and now he gets multiple questions abt and requests to play something and hes so embarrassed that he doesnt even acknowledge it

race will randomly barge into als room while filming and despite the fact that its literally his career to play horror games, it scares the mess out of him every single time

once either race or als stream accidentally started with out them noticing but instead of it like idk revealing some other big secret its literally just them simping for each other and al being like “idk i just know that im ugly” and you can see race just going ???

al has a tiktok account but it only has one video on it and its al hiding behind a wall and inching out to reveal race in their kitchen with very minimal lighting wearing a blanket as a cape stirring mac n cheese at 3 am while humming the 1812 overture. it got really popular

al cant take a compliment to save his life and denies being strong so race posts on twitter “albert: im not that buff! also albert: *a video of him doing the salmon ladder*

THESE ARE ALL SO BEAUTIFUL WAIT

- people originally ask if it’s race’s, and he’s just like “uh- yeaaah totally not mine or anything” cause he’s Shy™️ but they call bs and ask him to play something. he changes the subject every. single. time. race eventually just tweets a video of him playing that he took and deals with albert pouting about it until he reads all the super positive replies (cause all of their fans are literal angels i said what i said)

- oh race is TERRIFIED of all things horror. he barely sat through the IT movie when al and jack begged him to go see it. literally just the idea of it being a horror game scares him, but he’s also an adhd nightmare (same) so he forgets and bursts through the door in the middle of filming anyway, already talking about whatever, just to promptly freeze, scream and sprint out of the room like a child who saw a tiny spider

- all of stan twitter tried to fight al that day <3 he has a really unclear and negative mental image of himself so he genuinely says stuff like that constantly AND actually means it meanwhile absolutely everyone simps for him. also race’s brain just,,, cannot?? compute??? this??? like he literally shortcircuits whenever albert says anything like that cause pardon me beautiful boy say w h a t. the ‘racer.exe has stopped working’ meme is slightly overused but also totally isnt cause it’s always 100% accurate.

- i have absolutely nothing to add to this one you nailed it perfectly. race also has a tiktok, started right after al’s face reveal, where he just posts his backlog of snapchat videos of albert doing dumb or cute things. he has more tiktok followers than albert and makes sure everyone knows it cause of course he does it’s all exclusive red content

- albert is just,,,, very fit? and like??? that unclear mental image we were talking about earlier? 100% applies to this as well. like 195 bench 1 rep max, 320 deadlift, etc etc. (i’m a crossfit nerd sorry y’all. don’t exercise, just have a weird amount of knowledge shoved in my brain about it, if you wanna hear more about athletic al lmk) and he just NEVER seems to talk about it??? so yeah race is just constantly posting al doing the most athletic, outta pocket things with sarcastic captions just so everyone can see how amazing al is (also i hc that albert was a gymnast for most of his life but got injured so he stopped competing but still can do most of the tricks and race will randomly post albert throwing back handspring-back tucks while everyone sits around like 👁👄👁)

✨this was so therapeutic everyone please send me all the things i love this✨

#newsies #livesies #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #never not read the tags #ralbert #chaotic red and radioactive racer #youtuber!au #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH #please send me all the headcanons #all the things #cause i’m trying to think up some way to make myself write #and this helped so much #so thank you anon <3 #you’re thoughts aren’t stupid they’re incredible #also if you can’t tell #i’m really emotionally attached to this albert #like usually my fav is race #but chaotic red albert specifically owns my heart #also i would be the BIGGEST fan of these two if they actually existed #i would be such a stan omg #11/10 need it to spawn into existence immediately #anywhooo #thank you sm #for listening to me infodump and rant for this entire post #i love y’all

[edwardforkhands]

Asking for help to become not transphobic

This is a long rant, very unorganized. Sometimes I don’t know where I’m going with it. But basically, I’ve been on terfblr in secret for the last 3 years or so, and I’ve become transphobic during that time. I want help to try and change. If anyone could point me to any articles, documentaries, studies, etc to help me get out, I would appreciate it. If you can add in your own two cents, that would be appreciated as well. I’m not sure how much I’ll respond to replies or reblogs on this post, or DMs, as I’m pretty shy and non confrontational (hence why I was on terfblr in secret). But I will read everything!

Basically I agree with a lot of things terf believe, but one thing I want is to find a way to escape the transphobic side of everything. I want to be a radical feminist minus the trans exclusionary part. I’m pretty leftist and progressive, but I hate being bigoted in this way. I almost feel like someone that’s fallen down a neo nazi rabbit hole, in the ways that I have to hide my true beliefs from friends and family. The problem is, I just can’t find a way to for my brain to make peace with a lot of principles of present-day trans activism.

I feel like the only way to make progress is to first just flat out say I’m transphobic. In many ways I’m not, but in a lot of ways I am. That way when I ask my questions, people aren’t just like “that’s really transphobic of you to ask” and shut me down. I want to be kinder, but I need to be able to say what I think. Like how you need to be able to write out your math in order to find any mistakes. But the way things are now, my math looks perfectly fine to me.

So that everyone understands where I’m coming from, here’s a summary of my beliefs:

I agree with terfs/swerfs on a lot of things. I believe there are 2 sexes, gender is a social construct that is not at all innate, women face female-specific oppression, sex work is dehumanizing, there is no such thing as a genital fetish, I think in recent years that some people are transitioning when they not “actually trans,” etc. And there are some more petty things I get annoyed at like saying “uterus owners” or “pregnant people.” I also disagree with the term swerf (though I don’t think terf/swerfs are slurs). I want to protect women and sex workers. To me, this is like calling people who are against child labor “child exclusionary human rights activists.” In my mind I’m trying to do a good thing for them. Sex work is the commodification of consent— which imo can’t be commodified.

But then on the other hand there are a lot of topics on which terfs would disagree with me. I think we should respect peoples’ pronouns, trans people should be able to use what bathroom they want, using someone’s deadname is rude, for many people medical transition is necessary, there are cases where it is appropriate for children to transition, and even if gender roles were totally nonexistent, there would still be trans people.

Here’s where I think I started to get sucked up into “terf” ideology: I think dysphoria is necessary to be trans. I think this was the “gateway drug” that made me into a terf. This stems from my belief that there are two sexes, gender is fake, and your biology is tied to being trans. My understanding of dysphoria is this: It is a state of being dissatisfied with the sex of your body, feeling like it shouldn’t be the way it is. Like how some people feel like a limb shouldn’t exist, and they want to cut it off (I can see how this analogy is a bit transphobic, I just don’t see how else to explain my understanding). Dysphoria is innate, and would exist no matter how men and women are viewed in society. If you don’t have dysphoria, then what is the point of being trans? Is it to change the gender roles you have to/don’t have to adhere to? Could that not be solved by being gnc? And wouldn’t it be more progressive to push to abolish gender? How is transitioning without dysphoria anything other than reinforcing gender roles?

I’m not trying to be bigoted, these are genuine questions and concerns I have that keep me in terf circles.

There are also just so many things my eyes have been opened to on terfblr. Why porn and sex work is harmful to women, why makeup and sexualized clothing is bad, how to read between the lines in advertising targeting women, seeing just how much woman-hate there is everywhere and how acceptable it is in society. These are beliefs I could never see myself abandoning.

Just a heads up: I use the phrase “trans positive” as an antonym to the word “transphobic” (can’t think of a better one atm).

But with the whole trans issue, that’s where I feel like I might have crawled into a hole that I want to get myself out of. I don’t like that in being a terf, many would consider me to be a hateful and bigoted person. I want to be progressive, and on the right side of history. But there are so many things that I see in modern day trans activism that just don’t make sense to me logically, and some that I view as actively harmful. Like reinforcing gender roles, or eliminating the ability to talk about sex-specific and female-specific issues. It seems every few months things that were once considered trans positive to believe are now transphobic. Most of the time, progress like this is wonderful! It’s good when realize they have racist, sexist, homophobic, etc microagressions and work towards becoming better people. That’s great! But a lot of the times the new transphobic things just don’t make sense. For example, I realized saying things like “bitch” or “cunt” casually was sexist, and it made sense. But if I were to say your sexuality is based on someone’s sex, not their gender, that’s transphobic because it implies trans women aren’t real women, or trans men aren’t real men. If they pass, society can see them as being men or women. But biologically, they aren’t. That’s why the word “trans” goes in front of their name. It just doesn’t make sense to me how it’s transphobic to have a sexuality, so having what’s basically a “gender-ality” is the only acceptable thing now. Obviously it would be rude to go around telling every trans person “actually, you’re not a REAL man/woman!” randomly. But when the context permits, like with dating or for female-specific issues, I just don’t see how it’s transphobic to acknowledge a very relevant biological reality.

Trying to say anything relating to feminist issues in a non-transphobic way feels to me like walking on eggshells to escape a maze. It would be easy to give up and just say everything’s related to gender, sex is a social construct yet somehow gender’s innate, and go with the flow but I just can’t if it doesn’t make sense to me. I know I don’t have to understand everything about everyone else’s experiences, especially if it’s not hurting other people, but I feel like in some ways trans activism nowadays is.

I just wish all this made sense to me and I could happily say I support everything trans positive. I don’t want to be transphobic. In some ways I’m not, but in so many ways I am, and I want to change. But I want things to make sense at the same time. Currently it feels like terf beliefs align with common sense, while believing a lot of principles of trans activism takes so much mental gymnastics.

Obviously if you don’t want to respond you don’t have to. It’s not your responsibility to change me— it’s my responsibility to change myself, and fix my beliefs. But if anyone is willing to listen or help, that would be appreciated. I feel like a lot of terfs start out where I did— initially trans positive, but had just one or two issues that brought them to terfblr, and they come out the other side transphobic. Hopefully helping me will help at least one other person down the line.

I feel terrible interacting with trans people, knowing I follow and listen to so many terfs. I have so many conflicting feelings and beliefs and I wish things could balance out the right way.

#tw transphobes #tw transphobia #tw transmysoginy #tw transfobia #tw trans discourse #tw transmeds #transphobia #transphobic #terfs #terfblr #op is a terf #including the tw tags so that people who don’t wanna see this don’t have to #felt good to get this off my chest holy shit #swerf #swerf mention #tw terfs #tw swerfs

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Experiments - Part 4

If you missed the beginning of this saga, you can catch up here:

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

---

YES!

Rhett used the last bit of his self-control not to scream out his enthusiastic answer. As if it had been waiting for permission to do this, his mind immediately conjured up a vision where a naked Link was laying down on the bed in the corner, aching for Rhett to lick his way down Link’s chest and stomach until he could finally fill his mouth with Link’s mouth-wateringly hard… 

The thought almost made Rhett come on the spot. His hips tilted up, searching for something to fill. With considerable mental gymnastics, he hid the thought away for later inspection and nodded again. 

“Yeah, anything. Come on.” 

Link’s eyes widened and morphed from his usual bright blues to black and glossy pools of pure want. Rhett barely had time to acknowledge how beautiful he looked before his cock sank deep inside Link’s mouth. 

“Ah!” Rhett groaned, whipping his head back against the wall. He hit it hard but barely registered the pain. All he felt was a stomach-tingling, wet heat enveloping his cock. Link moved slowly, bobbing his head experimentally as he swirled his tongue against the most sensitive parts. Rhett was in the middle of a deep moan when suddenly, sharpness dragged along his shaft. 

“Teeth, teeth!” Rhett yelped and jerked away, his hand reaching blindly for Link. 

Link released him immediately and apologized profusely, kissing the sting away. He grabbed Rhett’s searching hand and pressed it into his hair. Rhett’s fingers threaded through the salt-and-pepper—nowadays more salt than pepper. Link’s eyes fluttered closed as he keened into Rhett’s touch and a small whimper slipped from his glistening lips. Rhett did his best to ignore the burning need to tug on Link’s hair to see if he would enjoy the pain as much as he had earlier.

“Help me out, yeah?” Link whispered, opening his eyes. With a shiver of anticipation, Rhett guided himself back inside Link’s waiting mouth. They moved slowly together, Link finding his way and Rhett showing it to him with small movements and sighs.

There were no more teeth, just unadulterated pleasure. Rhett got lost in it and couldn’t help but thrust his hips a bit, burrowing himself deeper inside Link’s eager warmth. Link sputtered and gagged and Rhett quickly pulled away.

“You okay?” Rhett asked, drawing in deep breaths, trying to tamp down his desire to throw Link on the couch, climb on top of him and fuck his mouth with all he had. 

Link dipped down again and sucked him deep, hollowing his cheeks with his tongue flattened below. Rhett groaned and squirmed, his grip on Link’s hair tightening reflexively. After a few long, slow sucks, Link popped off of him with a lewd sound and smiled. 

“I’m good. Is this… Am I doing it right?”

Rhett growled in frustration, desperate for Link to keep going. His heart was beating a rhythm so fast it was hard to think. 

“Rhett?” 

Rhett tried to concentrate on Link’s face. His cock was throbbing, ready to burst at any minute and the beat of his heart was almost deafening. Then he remembered. This wasn’t supposed to be about him. Somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten. This was Link’s experiment. 

“Yeah. Feels amazing. You’re doing a great job,” Rhett assured Link, petting his hair, silently praying for him to continue. Link let out a pleased giggle. 

“A great blow job,” he corrected with a wink. Rhett rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but laugh too.

“I’m sure we can come up with more puns if that’s what you wanna keep doing,” he muttered, amused by Link’s delight. 

“Nah,” Link drawled and gave Rhett a few tight-fisted pumps that made him moan and tremble all over. “I’d rather watch you come.”

“Get on with it then,” Rhett groaned. “I’m already so close.”

“Warn me before you bust,” Link reminded with a stern look. Rhett hummed a quiet “yeah” and watched his cock slowly sink back between Link’s lips. Rhett let go of his hair and swept his hand down, brushing his fingertips over Link’s hollowed-out cheek on his way to feel how Link’s lips stretched around his thickness. 

“Fuck, so pretty,“ he murmured. Link moaned around his cock and closed his eyes. 

After that everything was a blur. It was like Rhett’s brain shut down all other functions except those keeping him alive and those keeping him feeling Link’s mouth on him. Link was a quick study. He sucked and swallowed around him, licked and used his hand to bridge the gap between his lips and Rhett’s neatly trimmed hair. He did all the things Rhett had never known he wanted Link to do. 

When Link’s mouth suddenly disappeared Rhett whimpered at the loss of the sweet heat, but it soon appeared lower, lapping on Rhett’s balls, sucking them into his mouth one by one and rubbing the spit-slicked sack gently as his mouth returned to suck on Rhett’s aching cock. 

Rhett should’ve orgasmed ages ago. He was perpetually on the edge of “almost there”. But somehow Link seemed to know or guess when Rhett was nearing his finish because every time he was about to announce the inevitable, Link pulled away, moved from a tight suck to sloppy kisses of discovery, or fully abandoned Rhett’s slippery cock in favor of acquainting himself more closely with the tender flesh of Rhett’s inner thigh or the skin stretched over his hip bones. Rhett was losing his mind and had never been so happy to go mad.

He would have gladly spent hours being edged by his best friend’s surprisingly skilled mouth, but finally, he was beyond the point of turning back. 

“I’m gonna…” Rhett warned, gasping for air. Link gave him one last slow bob and then backed up a bit. Rhett looked at him for the first time in a while and was surprised how affected Link looked. He was breathless, pulling in quick gasps of air as if he was drowning. His glasses had slipped to the tip of his nose and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. His mouth looked so ravaged—skin around his lips rubbed raw and his lips plump and bright pink—that Rhett almost bent down and pulled him into a kiss. He longed to kiss those lips. But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Link nudged his glasses back into their place with his finger and wiped away some of the saliva that had spread on his chin. 

“Come on then,” he said, voice raspy and pleading. His body was tense, chest pushed forward and his face turned slightly up so that his chin jutted out. He braced his hands on Rhett’s thighs.

Rhett took hold of himself and grabbed a fistful of Link’s hair again. He didn’t trust his aim in his current state so he felt it was better to steady Link’s face close to his cock. Link cried out as Rhett’s hand dragged him forward and Rhett startled, loosening his grip. Link forced Rhett’s hand back into his hair and then wrapped both of his hands around Rhett’s cock and the hand holding it.

“Don’t you fucking dare let go. Wanna feel you come,” Link panted and together they worked Rhett over the edge. 

He barely made a sound. After all that build-up he came hard and fast. Relief and pleasure mixed in his gut, making him heave out a shuddering sob and one single word. 

“Link.” 

Rhett whimpered the name and spread his come over Link’s flushed cheeks, over his glasses, on his parted lips and more than few droplets straight into his mouth. Link’s hands fell from his cock and his fingers dug into Rhett’s thighs hard enough to bruise as he let out a guttural sound that settled deep inside Rhett’s stomach and turned into a pool of heat and primal want. He was only barely finished but at that moment, he felt like he could come again, just from hearing that sound. 

Link slumped to lean against Rhett’s shaking leg. He was breathing heavily, slowly licking his lips clean, tasting Rhett on his face.

Rhett fell backwards. He was beat, empty, used up and on cloud nine. A smile lingered on his lips and he wanted to laugh. He wanted to grab Link and lift him into his arms and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. He wanted to—

“Ew, you got my glasses.” Link’s annoyed words crashed through Rhett’s euphoria and he opened his eyes, trying to get his bearings in the real world. Link was gone from the floor. He’d gotten up while Rhett was flying high and was now walking towards the kitchen. Rhett’s chest tightened. Link didn’t sound happy. 

Rhett swept a few droplets of come from his fingers onto his shirt that he’d picked up from the floor. He pulled the shirt on, then his boxers. Water was running into the sink. Rhett padded to the kitchen and watched from the doorway as Link washed his face. His back was turned and when he closed the tap, he didn’t turn. He just reached for the kitchen towel, dried his face and stayed there, staring at the sink. 

Rhett’s elation was officially dead and buried.

“You okay?” he whispered, taking a few steps towards Link. Link’s shoulders jumped and he turned to look towards Rhett, eyes wide and cheeks still as flushed as they had been in the other room. 

“Fine,” he said, refusing to look Rhett in the eye. 

Rhett was pulled to him as if his body was not ready to let go of the intimacy they’d just shared. His arms wrapped around Link’s waist. Link’s eyes widened and he let out a small “what are you doing?”

“Didn’t you want me to…?” Rhett asked, terrified of how hopeful he sounded. His hand moved from Link’s waist and slipped between them, searching for something hard to wrap his fingers around. 

“Rhett, wait!” Link cried and tried to step away, but it was too late. Rhett had already felt it. His head whipped down to make sure. And there it was—the tell-tale wet spot on Link’s pants. For a few seconds, Rhett forgot how to breathe. Suddenly, it all made sense. 

He came. 

He came untouched as I did.  

Link moaned and hid his face behind his hands.

“So fucking embarrassing,” he whined. Rhett’s heart ached for him. This was supposed to be a good experience for him. Not something that made him cringe as he thought back on it.

“No, it’s not,” Rhett assured, pulling Link into a bear hug. “It’s totally fine, dude. That happens.”

“But…”

“You have a change of clothes in your office, right? Just clean up and you’re good as new.”

“Okay,” Link muttered against Rhett’s chest. Slowly, his hands wrapped around Rhett and he squeezed. They stood like that for a while, breathing the same air, wrapping their minds around what had just happened. 

“Thanks,” Link said finally and lifted his face from Rhett’s chest.

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal,” Rhett said.

“No, I mean, thanks for being my first.”

He smiled a crooked smile and slipped past Rhett. Rhett watched him go, trying to put words to the way he felt—like he was ripped apart and put back together again all at once.

#Appa writes fic #rhink #rhink fic #experiments fic #part 4 #ns*w

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 506

STAY AT HOOOOOOOME!!!!!

Ok, now that that’s out of the way... I kind of liked this episode. Which surprised me. Because usually I find myself neutral at best. But, considering how much I’ve hated disliked the last few seasons, I guess that feeling mostly neutral means this season has been better? The bar is low, y’all.

Could 1000% still use more Claire though. And more Jamie and Claire. And yes I know I’m saying that in the recap for an episode where the two of them bang.

I said what I said.

The title card’s powder blocker thingy looks like a plague doctor mask. We should bring those back. I found a box that had a bunch of them in it in the closet at my office once. That was weird. Also, stay the fuck at home and 6′ away from people if you have to go out on a supply run or take a walk.

Ooo, a flashback! I miss Scotland.

“Whom do I address, sir?” “I am Samuel Torrington,” said the guy who is most def *not* Samuel Torrington.

I know I shouldn’t laugh because of what’s about to happen, but looool at the girl for stepping in the literal one spot of mud.

Well that was dumb. Why the fuck would you run in between your dad and the guy he’s clearly gonna shoot?

I mean, it’s super sad, I guess. But also hella dumb.

Ah, a lavender pillow. Yes, I know it’s from the book. But between this and the BJR stuff, it’s like, do they know other smells exist?

But yeah, guess I shouldn’t talk since I have lavender hand soap, lavender lotion, lavender tea and a lavender candle.

It’s the best smell.

Ok, I get why Murcasta can’t be endgame. That was a good decision. But including Innes BeCaUsE tHe BoOk is dumb af. They got to the right decision to break up Murcasta, but for the wrong fucking reason.

Like, seriously though, can we please take a moment to appreciate how dumb this is? Like, book!Innes is from Ardsmuir. He’s been part of the squad. He’s basically one of Jamie’s most trusted friends. And he marries Jocasta. Show!Innes is literally some dude we’ve never heard of until last week because the fucking writers were like oh, Jocasta has to marry someone named Duncan Innes. Guess we should make that happen, out of the blue, for no other reason. Lazy idiots...

Jocasta has better handwriting than I do and I can fucking see what I’m doing.

Also lol at her straight up ignoring Roger saying that Jemmy won’t take her money.

Cut to Jemmy crying about the fact that he is now a participant in chattel slavery. I feel you, Jem.

Oh, it’s a cold? Ok fine, but also the whole chattel slavery thing.

ADSOOOOO! Such a good lil floofer! Look how nice he is, bringing them that excellent bug! WHO’S A GOOD KITTY? YOUUU ARE!

I really like Claire’s necklace. Also Claire’s neck. Also Claire’s collarbones. Also Claire. Can we have more Claire please? And less manpain in general?

D’awww, Lord John Grey the awkward gay. GIVE HIM AN APPROPRIATE BOYFRIEND ALREADY, YOU COWARDS.

Tryon is such a fucking douche. So is Quincy Arbuckle.

Well, it might not prevent tumultuous and riotous assembly, but not hanging out in groups larger than 10 sounds like a greAT FUCKING IDEA RIGHT NOW.

STAY AT HOOOOOOOOOOOOME. (If you are able to, and if you have to go to work, WASH YOUR HAAAAAAAAAAAANDS.)

Fergus, Marsali and Bree standing around this room being disappointed with Roger is A Mood™.

Team Give Fergus and Marsali More to Do

Oh, you’ve never been comfortable in your big fancy mansion? Poor you. *plays the world’s smallest violin*

News spreads slowly in/from the backcountry except, apparently, Claire’s medical advice.

Claire Fraser said reproductive rights!!! *ups monthly donation to Planned Parenthood*

The casting for Wylie is fucking perfect. Like kudos to the casting folks again.

I cared more about the Regulator shit in the show than the book because Murtz, but all the “Oh it’s happening! JK, it’s not! JK, it is!” that they took from the book is making me care less about it. Just happen already or fuck off.

Yes, I know it’s gonna happen next week.

Roger shoveling shit makes me happy. Because it’s gross and I do not like Roger.

“You keep shoveling your shit.” -- The Fandom Bree

Wylie should be a caricature with how fucking terrible he is, but let’s be real. We've all run into a guy like that.

Oh, Claire’s rings.

I did some mental gymnastics years ago to try to wrap my brain around why Claire would still wear an emotionally abusive piece of shit’s Fred’s ring. And the fact that the books and the show are like nope, she just likes Fred, drives me up a fucking wall every time.

“He must have been quite the man to inspire such devotion after all these years.” “Nah, he was an asshole. A complete and utter piece of shit. And instead of going with that and all the complexities it brings, we continue to gaslight the audience that he was a Good Dude. Instead of using the ring as a symbol of something more than fucking Fred, we just keep on pretending he didn’t suck.”

I hate everyone involved with refusing to acknowledge how shitty Fred was.

There is literally only one smuggler in the Carolinas.

DO NOT GO WITH THE CREEPY MAN TO A SECOND LOCATION. CLAIRE, THIS IS BEING A WOMAN 101. NEVER GO WITH A CREEP TO A SECOND LOCATION.

“I get a biblical plague.” You get what you deserve, Rog.

Jamie, chill with the extra testosterone. Just punch the bro or something.

Also don’t fucking blame the victim, asshole.

Literalol at Bree showing the women her like stick and sheet fan thing and then cut to all the people with just little squares, barely doing anything.

“Don’t stop! Keep your fires going!” *everyone stops and just stares at the bugs*

Gonna go ahead and take this time to remind folks that’s it’s fucking gross to get married on a plantation. Don’t do that thing.

I know a guy who is like proud of the fact that he’s an asshole. He talks about it like it’s one of his defining traits. This scene with Wylie being like “buddy, I love my shitty reputation” reminds he of that guy. I cannot fucking stand that guy.

*ignores Claire’s feelings about Fred’s dumb ring and headcanons in my own reasons instead because I cannot even with this nonsense anymore*

Ah, the Lindsays like Roger now. I still do not like Roger.

I fucking love this whole Murcasta scene. Can we get one of these for Jamie and Claire? I miss them having big sweeping scenes that have time to breathe and unfold and all the good shit like Murcasta gets here.

The show keeps trying to deny it, but scenes like this are where it’s strongest. But it refuses to accept that this is its lane and keeps trying to go elsewhere.

I miss Jamie and Claire.

I miss the MacKenzies.

I wanna give Jocasta a hug. She’s still trash for enslaving people, though.

Maria Doyle Kennedy is a goddamn treasure. Seriously, her casting was the best choice the show made in years.

That and saving Murtz, of course.

So fucking glad they cut the creepy-ass foot thing.

Jamie, you’re drunk, but read the fucking room. Claire’s right. Just because she says shit from the future all the time doesn’t negate the fact that she’s right about you right now. Also, seriously? You’re taking *this* opportunity to call her out?

Buddy deserved that slap.

Look, I’m always down for the Frasers to fuck. More Fraser fucking, I say. But this is just another instance like their fight at Lallybroch where the fight itself is never actually resolved like it should be. They just fuck about it and magically everything is ok again. Le sigh.

Murcasta gets a big long scene with time to breathe and talk through everything and it’s riveting af. But Jamie and Claire never get that anymore and it pisses me off tbh.

Stop shoehorning in book lines! She can’t see shit through all the skirts and stuff!

I miss the Lallybroch ring. What did they ever end up doing with it? It’s floating around somewhere.

Bonnet is so evil to 11 about fucking everything that it makes him boring. We get it. You’re a bad guy. Do you also have a tiny dick or something that you’re overcompensating for?

Can we please wrap this Bonnet shit up this season? I swear if they drag it out as long as they do in the books I’m gonna be rull annoyed.

Ok so now the war is actually gonna for real happen and I’m like legit out of fucks to give about it because Murtz aside, they’ve done the “it’s coming, jk!” fake out too many times...

Can they try to hang Murtz instead? Because I swear spending half a season with emo!Roger is cruel and unusual punishment.

#* #outlander starz #outlander 5x06 #drunj!der yells about outlander

[gravitasfalls]

A rant on fandom etiquette, the GF fandom, and what they did 4 years ago (and now)

By now, my “bullshit” tag has refuted most of the ridiculous hot takes, fun policing, and harassment that fans of Stanford Pines have had to face from the wider Gravity Falls fandom. But these rebuttals fall short of naming the real problem with anti-Ford wank: we never should have seen it in the first place.

People might have genuinely forgotten this, but fandom used to have etiquette against character hate. We called it “wank” and “bashing” instead of dignifying it as “discourse”. As late as 2014, fandoms on this very site had “X hate” or “anti-X” tagging systems for blacklisting, as courtesy to people who liked X thing...

...a far cry from GF fans of 2015 demonizing Ford in the most inexplicable ways, making every post a platform for that, siccing their followers on anyone fully positive about him, then pretending that never happened post-finale as they continue the bashing more insidiously to this day.

Like, what even was that? There’s a lot to unpack in those people’s arguments but let’s just throw out the whole suitcase.

(Under the cut: Snapshots of discourse I shouldn’t have had to put up with over the years, and snark-based coping with that. It gets ugly, you’ve been warned.)

Ford is irredeemable/deserves to suffer, why he didn’t even thank Stan!!1

Thanks I hate it! “It” being your apparent decision that, because you can’t make the fictional character suffer, real people who like him are the next best thing.

Ford is egotistical! Have I mentioned on literally every post I think his only trait is “egotistical”?

You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. But while that is just, like, your opinion man, you’re entitled to it on your own posts; you’re falsely entitled about it by forcing it on dissenters’ posts and inboxes.

*dumps negativity into inboxes anyway*

Your Hot Takes have disturbed and insulted me. You fools are unworthy of my great knowledge. The era of human enlightenment shall never come to pass.

You really think Ford is some kind of hero?

Only after you told me I wasn’t Allowed to see him as one and I Examined My Desires™ like you demanded! Funny how critical thinking ≠ agreeing with you.

Ford is your favorite? WHY DO YOU HATE MABEL.

Better question, why are you copying “WHY DO YOU HATE AMERICA” logic? 9/11 did fan drama I swear

Ford is NOT PURE OF HEEEAAART, so you have to Constantly Explicitly Acknowledge his Sins and interrogate what relating to him says about you.

I got no friends ‘cause they read the papers. It’s funny, actually, projecting onto him got me dangerously close to processing some negative experiences from my past... good thing I have you here to shut those thoughts down <3 Thanks for saving me from myself uwu

If you just want to project onto a comfort character in peace, Stan is right there! His lack of fantasy elements makes him more relatable anyway!

Ford brought Bill’s manipulation on himself!

Damn fandom, back at it again with the GROSS VICTIM BLAMING

FFS why is this take as prominent now as ever??? at least the outlandish criticisms were funny, this one just makes me want to be dead.

Ford is abusive/manipulative because he doesn’t make fun of Dipper/ made a case for his apprenticeship/ called Mabel good/ complimented her personality!

(Yes, people did these mental gymnastics; yes, my soul left my body instantly.)

STOP trying to justify Ford’s actio-ma’am this is an Arby’s. also:

Ford is the Epitome of Toxic Masculinity, if you defend him either he’s your Male Power Fantasy or you’re a ditzy fangirl broad with ovaries for brains!

Ah yes, the two genders. Pack it in, everyone, we’ve reached peak feminism and patriarchy is over.

Someone negativity-tagged my Ford post, WTF?! I’m not “anti-Ford”, I’m “pro Ford-learning-a-lesson”!

And pro his-fans-never-having-a-moment-of-peace, apparently! Sorry I assumed you were a hater by your complete lack of positive things to say about him tho

Ford is a sociopath/deserves death for having no empathy!

"Tumblr is as ableist as any majority-conservative site," I say into the mic. The crowd boos. I begin to walk off in shame, when a voice speaks and commands silence from the room. "You’re right," they say. I look for the owner of the voice. There in the 3rd row stands: tumblr.

*Dozens of 10000+ note posts calling Ford stupid, manipulative, solely at fault for everything that went wrong, other inanities*

(This is the fandom that made me get Xkit. I’m sure hundreds of my 1000+ blocked posts are theirs.)

If you like Ford on any terms but ours then I’m sorry, but Gravity Falls just isn’t for you, k?

I don’t have a flippant response to this one. Just... stop. No one has to agree with you about this character; no, nor with me. No one even has to engage with fandom moralistically; I promise it wouldn’t hurt anyone if I were to watch this show without having to Interrogate its Morality. It wouldn’t even hurt if people voiced character hate within reasonable bounds of tagging, as I’ve said. But instead they spread it like the plague in the name of Purity and insinuated (using ages-old “ur a fake fan!!1″ no less) that we don’t get to have outlets. I’m tired.

Look at my hilarious/satisfying art of Ford saying OOC strawman things, Stan beating him up, the kids turning their backs on him! (Srsly look at it I’ve put it in all the tags)

You’re madness, Gravity Falls fandom. Virulent madness. And everything you touch dies with you.

This is only a fraction of shit we’ve had to wade through, practically every day while the show was running. You couldn’t avoid it if you followed popular blogs. I saw the best meta writers of my fandom dogpiled by BNFs, dragging themselves through the blue hellsite at dawn looking for a fix-it fix. And people now expect me to believe it was “just Discourse” or that anything equivalent happened “in reverse” toward Stan. If I didn’t know better that they don’t know better, I’d call gaslighting.

I don’t expect to change anything. In fact, until this blog’s next go-around I don’t intend on seeking out new content anymore. I can’t keep looking at a fandom where the consensus on a canonically abused character’s victimization is that it was stupid, funny, a moral failing, or deserved, and expect anything to improve.

But to anyone else these people hurt: your anger or upset is valid, and I’m sorry. None of us deserved this. And I’m not letting it follow me into the next decade and make me forget why I liked this show in the first place, even if the only way to do that right now is cut off from the fandom a bit. I’m telling you, it never should have come to that. I don’t know if negativity-tagging can ever catch on here, considering tumblr has no boundaries by design and fandom no boundaries by choice... but for the sake of everyone who comes next, Gravity Falls fandom, make an effort.

#gravity falls #fandom discourse #purity culture #Filthy Ford Apologist Squad #thoughts on The Bullshit #(putting the Drama Tags on this post to practice what I preach... so please no one start any more on this post)

[deonsdomain]

Trump Card Review

I can clearly recall the day I came across Dinesh D’Souza on YouTube in late 2016. This was during my phase in life where I thought I was smarter than other people because I watched popular conservative personalities on the internet. This was during a time where I was trying to find my identity in politics, where did I truly stand on topics. This was during the election of 2016, where it felt like a shift in the politics I knew as a kid. Something seemed different, more divided if you will, maybe they were always like this and as I got older, I finally realized the situation. I would watch these videos that had millions of views of talking heads going to colleges and trying to impose their point of view. The appeal at the time was that they were confronting ideas that seemed to attack a viewpoint I didn’t understand because I was close-minded. It wasn’t until I went to college and started talking to people that come from my background that I could see other’s perspectives.

So how does this tie into D’Souza, well next to Ben Shapiro this was a guy I saw in the recommended section on YouTube all the time, I never clicked on the videos but I was aware of him being someone doing the same thing. I wasn’t aware that he pleaded guilty to a campaign finance violation donating around $30,000 when the limit is $5,000. His lawyer was claiming that it was a misguided act of friendship. This is important because since then he has had this chip on his shoulder about it claiming that Obama was going out of his way to suppress conservative voices. Instead of accepting that he got a light sentence and a cushy place to call jail he instead tried to make it a point of contention in his other films. While I have only seen Death of a Nation I probably will get around to his other films because from Trump Card and Death of a Nation I believe that D’Souza is a fraud. He is a liar who will say anything to provoke people and try to “own the libs” which gets clicks and mouthpieces to discuss what he’s doing. It comes off as pathetic when looking at his personality he’s built up.

Eventually I met new people with ideas that challenge mine. It was easier to see their perspective since I was able to associate with them, know who they were, and acknowledge where they were coming from. I got curious and began to wonder what D’Souza was up to these days and that’s how I came across his film Death of a Nation which I dragged my brother and a friend to. We were the only people in the theater who were under the age of forty. Watching that movie was akin to having my brain become smoothed over and then shaken about like how a baby would shake their rattler. It was easy to laugh at the movie because it was pure nonsense. Much of nothing about that movie really amounts or added to anything other than echo beliefs you already had. It was a film that was never going to expose anyone to anything new.

So what is Trump Card all about then? Well as the title implies it suggests that Trump is someone who is created by the system democrats put into place when having Obama in office. D’Souza then starts to interview people on the fringes of politics asking them questions about Obama being a part of the deep state, or how Ilhan Omar is somehow going to cause the fall of America since radical Muslims love her, but doesn’t do anything to help back up his points other than the trustworthy words of someone who claims that he gave Obama oral while he was doing crack in a limo. D’Souza also then looks to tackle school shootings saying that democrats and liberals have helped create an environment that allows for these crimes to happen since they are doing everything in their power to remove guns. It is really disgusting to watch D’Souza exploit the pain of a family for his talking point to “own the libs” as you see that the parents are still suffering from the loss of their child in a school shooting. D’Souza has a technique of asking leading questions to get the answer he wants for the skewed perspective of how republicans are the only people who are here to protect the country.

It wouldn’t be a D’Souza documentary without the horrible recreations. This time it’s 1984 and Lincoln narrating a speech as he rides a train into modern day whilst also having the communist flag across recognizable landmarks and having figures like Stalin and Lenin on Mount Rushmore. At least this time he has learned how to use green screen effects and using better rendering methods for this 3D effects since in Death of a Nation it looked like it came from the PS2 era of visual effects. The purpose of having 1984 is to have it alliterate how liberals want to control your mind ala 4 is actual 5. In his Lincoln monologue it is just Lincoln speaking about America at the time while having him looking concerned out the window of a train as we cut to B-roll footage of America’s landscapes with an anthem playing proudly.

Trump Card is a movie that is only out right now since it’s an election year released in October. If you were to ask me I don’t think that this is meant to convert people, but to help reaffirm those who already believe this. This is not anything more than a propaganda piece for Trump since Trump was the one who pardoned him from his light sentence. This is also the same movie that is takes a section dedicating it to Trump’s apartment ventures in New York ignoring all the racial issues that occurred during the time or fails to acknowledge how Trump wanted the death penalty for The Central Park Five and still believes that they are guilty of their crimes they have since been proven innocent of. This is nothing more than a fluff piece that serves to give an ego boost to Trump’s followers as they are some of the most vindicated people in the country right now, but aims to give them more ammo to fire out when people want to criticize the President. For me, this is simply a poorly made film that aims to do nothing more than leave me disinterested and disgusted with the attempts to make something to cover the truth or disfigure the reality of these hot button issues so much that it is hard to believe that this is even real. It is mental gymnastics put together in one convenient film for people to observe for years to come.

#Film Review #letterboxd #d'souza #movie review

[scribeofmorpheus]

Opposing Elements Part 3 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Part One, Part Two

A/N: Ahhh! So I had waaaayyy too much fun writing from Peter’s point of view, as a result, we were gifted with a lot of rambling and playful dialogue! Not much reader presence in this chapter, but we do get to see things from Peter’s POV! (Also, I’ll be travelling for the next few days and even though I did a quick spellcheck I’m sure there are a few (many) mistakes I overlooked. I’ll fix that later. I just had to update this fic! It was overdue!)

Remember: Reader is a version of Felicia Hardy AKA Black Cat

Words: 2086

Warnings: Does Crime fighting and therapy multitasking count? Some angst.

(Gif isn’t mine)

Peter’s POV

Peter was perched atop one of the thousand fire escapes on one of the indistinguishable apartment buildings in Queens. His mask was lifted up from the bottom half of his face as he snacked on a Snickers bar. Legs dangling over the edge like he was a little kid at a play park. He was exhausted, but not from crime fighting, sadly. To his dismay, it was one of the slowest nights he'd had in a while. The most action he'd gotten was saving a cat from a tree. Twice! And it was the same cat.

He had patrolled many dark alleyways and shady corners the last month alone. He and Ned had been slowly working towards finding all the remaining alien tech the Vulture -Adrian Toomes- had repurposed and sold on the black market. It hadn't been easy. Tracking down alien technology was time-consuming and difficult, he and Ned barely had any free time lately. He was a little disappointed that he had to miss attending Felicia's gymnastic try-outs today. He really wanted to be there for her.

"Hey, Karen, anything?" Peter asked the AI in his suit, he was getting impatient.

"Nothing as yet, Peter."

"Great," Peter groaned.  He was in need of blowing off some steam. After everything that happened with Liz and her dad, for which he felt partially responsible, Peter had been a little on edge. It didn't help that Aunt May found out about his leading a double life either. She had sworn that if she ever saw him wearing the colours red, blue and white together, on a night that wasn't Halloween where it'd only be acceptable if he dressed as Captain America, she would ground him for life. Either that or she'd slowly kill him with walnut-date loaves. Everything was just so much more complicated now.

With Felicia's return, things just seemed to get even more complicated. He had missed her fiercely when she left, she had been his only friend back then. She was like this unstoppable whirlwind that set its sights on him one day and, for some reason or the other, she had swept him up and carried him away. Away from the bullies and the stolen lunch money. Away from having to think about his parents all the time. She was a force to be reckoned with, but at least then he knew what his feelings for her were. He knew what she had meant to him -and he to her. But now, now they didn't seem to fit so well together anymore. Like two puzzle pieces from two separate puzzles that once looked identical. Turns out they weren't.

To make matters worse keeping secrets from Felicia felt unnatural. When she had asked about the bruise he couldn't bare lying to her face. Not when they stood so close together and she hung her slender arm around his. So the best he could offer her was a half-truth. He had gotten the bruise from falling on gym equipment, the truth was he had gotten the bruise when some hoodlum in possession of a magnetic field generator weapon had flung a piece of gym equipment at him.

Peter sighed, "Anything yet, Karen?"

"No, Peter."

"Oh man! I have so much homework to do. Can't these guys just hurry up and take the bait? I mean it's not like I don't have a life of my own ya' know. Why is it criminals always show up at the most inconvenient of ti--"

"Peter, my scanners have honed in on a frequency. It appears we have some activity," Karen interrupted.

"Yes!" Peter exclaimed excitedly as he pulled the mask over his face completely. He stuffed the candy wrapper in his bag and webbed it to the fire escape. "Let's go re-poses some alien weaponry!"

***

When he reached the source of the frequency, Peter had spotted four guys, all heavily armed with weird looking alien tech. They were loading a truck with duffle bags. They had probably just robbed an ATM or something. Peter mentally scolded himself for failing to stop the robbery before it had occurred.

Peter crawled up to the ceiling from the wall to get to a better vantage point. Once positioned perfectly above them he used his enhanced vision to focus on the gang of criminals.

"Alright, one more score like this and then we're set!" Said the largest of the four, he was without a doubt proud of his winnings.

"Come on, come on! Hurry up! Don't want to be around when the fuzz shows up," one wearing a red bandana around his face hurried the others.

"Or that Spider-Dude," the smallest one added. They all laughed at him. Peter tried not to take much offence.

"Would you like to activate instant kill mode, Peter?" Karen asked innocently.

"W-What, no, no. Karen, we talked about this. No instant kill," Peter panicked for a fleeting second, keeping his voice low so as to avoid detection.

"Acknowledged."

He slowly descended down towards the truck using his retractable web sling. The four men were too preoccupied with stuffing the van to notice Peter was suspended above them. Peter stayed there, hovering above them for a few extra seconds hoping one of them would notice him, but to his chagrin, they didn't.

His second wave of impatience hit him and Peter cleared his throat to garner their attention, "Hey, not to be a buzzkill, but would you guys mind returning all the money you stole?" He quipped childishly.

The big guy pointed his weapon at Peter and fired off a pulse beam, Peter avoided the beam by somersaulting away and landing a few feet away. The surrounding windows of the building screeched in distress before they exploded, the resulting effect was a beautiful yet dangerous shower of microscopic glass shards falling to the ground. Peter shielded himself under some cover.

"I guess that's a no then?"

"You two-" the big guy pointed to the smaller, unarmed two of the group, "-keep loading the truck. We got this," confidence practically oozing off him as he urged his bandana wearing companion to join him in his fight.

If Peter hadn't faced guys twice as dangerous as him, he may have wavered for a second. The smaller guys (including the one who had called him 'Spider-Dude') hurried their efforts to fill the truck with the duffle bags.

"Karen, notify the police, someone's gotta return all that money," Peter ordered.

"The police have been notified."

"Who is he talking to?" The armed man with the bandana asked the bigger guy, who in turn shrugged. He seemed just as confused as his partner in crime.

"Probably hallucinating from all that blood rushing to his brain from hanging upside-down for so long."

"You're familiar with the basic physics concept of gravity weighing down on your organs due to the human body being upside down, thereby crushing your lungs causing asphyxiation which can lead to side effects like hallucinations or blurred vision?" Peter asked in surprise.

The large man didn't answer, he chose to fire off his pulse weapon instead. Peter dodged the energy pulse, barely, with another summersault. He then used one of his webs to swing around and kick him in the back. He went down easy.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall," Peter said with a cool head and a touch of self-gratification. This was exactly the kind of mind-numbing distraction he needed.

In a moment of hysterics, the other armed man fired his weapon carelessly in a flurry of pulsing attacks. Eventually, the power was too much for one ordinary man to withstand and he was blown away by the very weapon he used to defend himself. Ironic, Peter thought.

In short time he managed to subdue all the criminals and webbed them up in a collective ball to the side of the truck. He was about to make his grand exit when his suit notified him he had an incoming call. The caller ID read: Felicia.

"Would you like to accept the call, Peter?" Karen's constantly calm and composed voice was always hard to adjust to after taking on a few criminals in a rush of adrenaline and aerial kicks.

Peter debated whether or not to take the call, "I- I don't know, maybe? Actually, n- no. I can't talk to her right now. But what if she thinks I'm avoiding her? Or worse, what if she thinks I'm a terrible friend for standing her up twice in one day. First with the auditions and now this phone call… No, I'll just call her and apologise later. Y- Yeah, that's what I'll do."

"The call already went to voicemail," Karen informed him too late.

"Uh, hey! Spider-Dude, are you… are you alright?" Asked the smallest of the four men roped up in the ball of webs. His voice soft and sincere. He was definitely the furthest thing from a hardened criminal, Peter thought.

Peter turned to him, he could feel his cheeks flush from embarrassment, it was a good thing he was wearing a mask. He never meant for anyone to witness his little inner dialogue of indecision with himself, let alone the guys he just strung up. Although, since they were all here and not going anywhere anytime soon, Peter decided to make do with what he was given. He sat cross-legged, facing towards the balled mass of men stuck to the side of the truck, he figured it wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion on his current relationship problems.

"Okay so here's the deal: there's this girl right, we used to be besties back in the day, when we were kids, but then she moved away and things… changed. We both changed. But now she's back and at first, ya' know, I was happy, I got my best friend back and I figured things could go back to the way they used to be. Except, they didn't."

Peter used his hands as visual aids as he moved them about from point A to B to A again actively, the four men were forced to do nothing but listen to him overshare about his current predicament, "To be honest, I don't really understand it. When she's happy, I'm happy and when she's sad I get so exasperated because I can't help her. To make things worse, I have this whole other secret life I can't tell her about and lying to her, even by omission, is killing me!"

"Why don't you just tell her how you feel?" the small guy asked.

"Yeah, just tell her how you feel," one of his companions backed him up.

Peter let out an exasperated sigh, "See, that's the thing, I don't know what it is exactly I feel for her. Don't get me wrong, she's amazing and quick-witted and has a horrible habit of swearing all the time -which I find hilarious… "

"But?"

"But, my last relationship didn't end well and I was somewhat responsible for how things ended. I just- I don't want that to happen with her. I don't want to hurt her, I also don't want to ruin what we have," Peter's head hung low, he didn't realise this had bothered him so much.

"Maybe you should stop trying to control everything and just let her decide," the largest of the men offered. Peter hadn't expected someone like him to say something like that, he was at a loss for words.

"Peter, the authorities are closing in. I recommend leaving now," Karen informed him.

"I gotta jet, thanks for everything. You are all great listeners."

Peter left before any of them could say anything, the distant sounds of the sirens blaring through the wind.

***

Peter climbed through his bedroom window still clad in his suit, he had been so preoccupied with making sure Aunt May didn't see or hear him that when a lively feminine voice spoke out he had nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Spider-Man?" Felicia gasped in utter astonishment.

Peter whipped his head around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, "Wh-What? Who-"

Suddenly he realised his voice still sounded like him. Peter cleared his throat and deepened his voice to an almost comical extent, "Hey, this isn't my apartment!" He tried to sound perplexed.

"Obviously," Felicia said sarcastically.

She squinted her eyes at him, he knew that look, she was definitely thinking up a storm in that brilliant mind of hers. Peter had to find a way to throw her off the scent.

"Uh… “His mind drew a blank. Peter couldn't think of a smart way to try and explain why exactly Spider-Man was in Peter Parker's bedroom.” I’ll just-" Peter pointed at the window and seconds later he flung himself out of it, leaving Felicia looking on completely flabbergasted.

"What the hell just happened?" Peter heard Felicia ask herself in astonishment.

"Next time, use the fire escape," he spoke out loud to himself. "Oh, shit my backpack!" Peter shouted, his voice normalised, as he swung away from his apartment building back in the direction he came from to pick up the third backpack he had forgotten.

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[octaviaquadratum]

Reading Ally's blog was amazing because I feel the exact same way about some things, and she worded them so well, way better than I've been able to.

The first post -- about love -- really hit me.

When I started playing with Kurt, a struggle I had was that I was actually *not* in love with him. What a weird struggle, right?! Well, I'm used to falling in love with people easily, and playing/doing boudoir things with only people I'm in love with. This meant that Kurt presented me with new feelings that I did not know how to handle, because all of my models are based on romantic love.

Our first time playing was unplanned, it just kind of happened after he cut my hair at my house. He asked me for a back rub. I gave him one, and then put the moves on him. It felt natural and necessary and it went very, very well.

Our next playdate was at his house, scheduled, about a month later, and it was also amazing. The next day I messaged him to say I really needed to call him to process. "You're in love with me", he said on the phone. "No, that's just it, I'm NOT in love with you, and I've never done this stuff with someone I wasn't in love with, so I'm having trouble because I don't know what box to put this in", I said. He was surprised -- "that's a relief, usually people always fall in love with me", he said, and we talked about why I felt the need to put the relationship in a box. (Answer: I need to categorize things in order to make sense of my world and to know where I fit -- a need very common in most people!).

The part of my brain that grabs small details, holds onto them forever, and uses them to inform future thought and action went, "ok. He's relieved that I don't love him."

That same brain-part also grabbed onto a time when I visited him after Allyson had been here, and he and Amy and I were casually chatting, and he started talking about how she had told him she loves him, and how he doesn't want people to tell him they love him. Amy asked if he meant just Allyson, or everyone in general, period, and Kurt answered that he meant everyone -- if no one ever told him they love him again, that would be great, he said.

.... Brain went, "ok, never tell him you love him, if that ever happens, because he doesn't like that."

Fast forward several months, and... well, shit... I'm pretty sure I'm in love with him.

My ability to say that comes at the end of a huge amount of mental gymnastics wherein I questioned if that was true:

Why do I love him?

Is this really love, or is "love" just a placeholder word, the most readily understandable thing to label what's actually a more complex emotion?

What even IS love? I found some solace in Howard Jones' song, "What is Love?" (lyrics included below), as I began to realize that I, the one my friends come to for relationship advice, the one of my friends who has been in their primary relationship the longest and who was the first to marry, the one who has played matchmaker for other friends who ended up getting married themselves, the one who frequently uses a heart symbol as a stand-in for their own name, and has regarded themselves as uniquely blessed by the deities of love that they acknowledge, DO NOT KNOW WHAT ROMANTIC LOVE IS.

This created a sort of identity crisis. It made me question my whole self. Love is at the center of everything I do, isn't it? I've said that for years! But I came to question what that means. I realized that in that sense, I define love as the respect and compassion I have for other beings. I could tell pretty much banyone I love them and mean it in this way.

But romantic love? I was always one of those people who answered "how do you know you're in love?" With "you just know", AND I ALWAYS JUST KNEW. But with Kurt? I didn't "just know". What the hell?

And... enter those little snippets my brain has held onto, telling me that a) he does not want me to fall in love with him, and b) he most certainly doesn't want me to tell him, if I do....

And cue me feeling a large amount of angst. What the fuck am I gonna do? What CAN I do?

But... Ally's post made me realize something incredible: he already knows how I feel.

A few times he and I got together ago, I was trying to explain some thought process I was having. I forget exactly what it was. It did not involve my feelings toward him. But he was like, "you're in love with me", and he kept saying it, kept bringing what I was saying back around to it, in a sort of "a-ha! Gotcha!" way, like he thought that's what I was trying to talk about. But it wasn't, and I felt like what I actually wanted to talk about was important, and in that moment I felt unheard and was kind of getting annoyed because he kept pushing the idea. So I kept denying it -- "no, that's not it. What I'm trying to say is [other stuff]".

Now I see clear as day that that, frustrating as it was at the time, was his acknowledgment that he perceives how I feel. He does read me very well, why do I think I can hide what I'm feeling from him? It must be so obvious to him. I wish I had leaned into it at the time. But the fact that I didn't doesn't really change anything. He knows. (I would have just made it awkward, anyway, haha).

I have another non-primary partner who I've been with for 4 years, and I'm in love with him. But he is not in love with me. We have talked about it, and I learned that he has never felt an emotion that made him go, "oh, that's love!" And I understand that, because of my belief that when it's love, you know. It *did* hurt at first that he didn't love me back, but I eventually reconciled it because I realized it wasn't personal -- It's not like he's been in love with everyone else he's dated, but finds me unlovable; it's across the board (I'm pretty sure he's aromantic). We find our "Leia: I love you / Han: I know"- style exchange comfortable at this point.

Kurt has made me thankful for this other partner in an unexpected way: I do not expect Kurt to love me, and I understand if he does not or cannot, and furthermore, that it does not have to be personal. It does not upset me... and I would not be able to feel this way presently if i was not experienced with it because of my other partner.

But DOES Kurt love me? Can I look at specific words or actions and go, "that's how he tells me he loves me!"?

I don't know. And it kind of doesn't even matter to me.

The thought "I have strong feelings for you" has also come to me often when I think about him. I feel like that's the closest I would be able to get to telling him how I feel, and in a way, it would be more accurate than Those Three Words... because I feel a lot more than love. I feel respect, admiration, and such a strong desire to serve him and dedicate and commit myself to him. I felt these before I realized I love him. Love is just the cherry on top. And strong feelings are what he has shown me when we interact -- When I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, he makes sure I know it.

And that is all I need.

---------

"What is Love?" -- Howard Jones

I love you whether or not you love me. I love you even if you think that I don't. Sometimes I find you doubt my love for you, but I don't mind. Why should I mind, why should I mind?

What is Love anyway? Does anybody love anybody anyway? What is Love anyway? Does anybody love anybody anyway?

Can anybody love anyone so much that they will never fear? Never worry, never be sad? The answer is they cannot love this much, nobody can. This is why I don't mind you doubting.

And maybe love is letting people be just what they want to be -- The door always must be left unlocked To love when circumstance may lead someone away from you, And not to spend the time just doubting.

~~~

[darkskinnyemmm]

I seriously don’t see myself having the friendships I want to have. These past few years have been trying and I’m losing brain cells trying to figure out why I have the hardest time communicating with people and why they have an even harder time understanding me. This isn’t a pity post. I take full responsibility and acknowledge the mistakes I’ve made or how I’ve offended people. I’m just really tired. I’m tired of losing people because I don’t speak up in time, saying something the wrong way or not at all and if they haven’t left, they’ve definitely lost respect and trust for me in some capacity and I can sure pick up on it.

I really hope and want to be a better version of myself, but I can only move at a pace that’s natural and consistent so that it sticks. All these uncomfortable but necessary experiences are making me want to revert back to being dangerously introverted; it might actually be necessary during this stage of growth, but I’m also afraid it’ll be devestating for my mental health and I will spiral into the hole that follows me.

I’m also realizing the gymnastics Black people have to do to hold friendships with each other and while it’s rewarding, it’s truly sad. I’m really banking for our generations(millennials and Gen Z) to raise our children in households with proper communication and an abundance of honesty, respect and love. Learning all of these things at an age that I thought I’d know how to do all of these things is the biggest and saddest gag. And the even bigger gag is hearing Black people telling other Black people that they should in fact know how to do these things as if our history doesn’t make it clear enough why we always have to start from zero. I’m not saying that we can’t undo these things, we definitely should and can. It is possible. The inter-generational knowledge within the Black community is slim and I’m fed up of seeing us hate and loathe our existence and our relationships with one another because of this.

I have a lot to work on and acknowledge it and will get to it. I’m just tired beyond wanting to do the work right now.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

The Seal Lullaby: Chapter 9

On Ao3 | My Ko-fi

As always, I have a lot of wonderful people to thank, namely my beta reader @minky-for-short, my girlfriend and endless source of support @childofdustandashes and my wonderful friends @purearcticfire and @oversaturated-ocean and @brainypaperbullets and @lookatvanessasface who make writing this incredibly long fic worth while. Other people who do that amazing job of keeping me going with their kind words and support @arya-durin-51 @kilocurican @hollywoodx4

Alex and Eliza both knew that it was wrong of them to keep doing this. To keep pretending that this wasn’t happening, like it wasn’t happening right in front of their eyes.

But it was like saying it aloud, acknowledging it with words or even one of their glances that served as full conversations, would make it too real. Like if they never spoke of it, if it was kept to just the restless expressions caught in the bathroom mirror, to every time one of them would wake from a nightmare but dodge away from explaining it as the other would comfort and cuddle them, to every time tears were quickly wiped away when one of them would walk in and pretend not to notice.

They both knew it was ridiculous, damaging, to keep pretending it could be ignored; it would only make the pain more pronounced when it finally had to hit and be truly felt.

But how could they face it? How could they let themselves say it out loud, that their eldest son was slipping away from them?

It was happening right in front of their eyes.

Just small things at first, things that could be attributed to the natural moodiness and sullen nature of teenagers with only the slightest mental gymnastics, easy for Alex and Eliza to explain away with only the faintest pang of guilt. Philip’s unwillingness to get out of bed on a morning, the way he looked noticeably pale and wan throughout the day and yet seemed to find it impossible to go to sleep before midnight, the way he seemed surrounded by an invisible wall, a buzzing haze of ‘leave me alone, I don’t want to talk’. All that was in the books Alex frequently read until the spines were cracked and the edges were worn, thinking that surely, he must be the one at fault, there was just some piece of information he didn’t have and that was why he was failing to reach his son, that was why Philip suddenly felt so far away when it seemed like, just weeks ago, Alex had known him better than he knew his own mind. All that was in those neatly printed, jargon stuffed pages that seemed to think a child was something that could be approached like a mathematical problem or an academic essay, like Alex was expected to be so cynical and practical about a piece of his own soul; Philip was merely experiencing the heart wrenching symptoms of having too old a brain in two young a body, a personality that was at odds with itself and the world around it.

But there were some things that weren’t in those books. That Alex understood even better than everything else that was happening to his little lion cub but damn it, he didn’t want to. How Jamie would come running to them in the middle of the night in tears, bringing them to the boys’ room to find Philip thrashing and writhing in his sleep, muttering feverishly about the current, the current, the waves, the tide, he had to catch the tide…

How Philip seemed to sicken and rot like a plant suffocated in the shade until he was down at the beach. Only then did some of the colour he used to have come back into his cheeks, did his curls seem to lift and find their bounce again, did the smile that once used to be the sun in Alex and Eliza’s lives come back.

How some foods repulsed him now, dishes Eliza had used to make him to cheer him up and make him feel better after an illness, suddenly the scent of them made him shudder and bile rise in his throat. He seemed to only really want fish. Undercooked, if possible; the one night Alex tried making yusheng on some creative whim (driven in no small part by the fact that Eliza had been so kind to him recently, learning and perfecting so many different dishes from his birthplace of Puerto Rico that Alex wanted to do the same for her, wanted to give her some culinary part of her heritage) Philip ate three times as much as he had been recently.

There were so many signs, some subtler than others, some screamingly obvious but they all lead to the same conclusion as lines and paths on a map spiralled unflinchingly in to somewhere dark and uncharted and littered with warning signs.

Philip was sick. Philip was sad. Philip was wasting.

And wasn’t it just the cruellest trick, out of all the ones the universe had ever played on Alex, the meanest and vilest and most vicious, that he knew exactly how to cure his son. But it would mean losing him forever.

It was Eliza who eventually broke the silence, she had always been braver than her husband, at least in Alex’s opinion.

It was on a night where the worries and anxiety was actually furthest from his mind, their bed had always been something of a sanctuary for him, those few hours at the end of every day just before sleep where they could come back to each other. Especially now, when there was the gentle little pregnant bump in Eliza’s belly, quickly turning taut and marked in the most beautiful way by stripes and valleys not unlike a careful, attentive etching of some gorgeous landscape, for Alex to fuss over and focus his mind on. This little one had been a surprise, a seed dropped to the soil when both of their backs were turned that took root and blossomed so suddenly. It had been the night of their anniversary, the day marking when Eliza had found Alex on the beach, what he affectionately called their ‘unofficial’ anniversary. Eliza would roll her eyes happily and remind him that their actual anniversary was pretty damn unofficial too, as it happened.

“The line must be drawn somewhere, my dear,” Alex had grinned in answer on that night, seconds before he’d kissed her deeply and rolled her below him, minutes before he’d opened her up delicately and deftly, minutes before they’d made their new arrival.

Not a bad anniversary present, Eliza had thought to herself a few weeks after that, as she’d looked down at the positive pregnancy test in her hand through a curtain of ecstatic tears. Unofficial or otherwise.  

Now, as Alex kissed his way along the dark, charcoal line bisecting her stomach that was becoming more pronounced every day, his restless soul was so settled and steady. So much so that he didn’t notice the tears beading in the corners of Eliza’s eyes, impossible to be a further cry from the tears she’d shed that day, months ago, perched on the edge of the bath with a palm pressed to her belly.

“Alex, baby, what are we going to do?” she whispered, the sadness so pronounced in that miserable little murmur that he was jolted into panic so completely it was like being thrown.

“Eliza?” he blinked, knowing what was coming but still trying to fight it, down to the last second.

“What are we going to do?” his wife asked again like it was all she could say, her voice catching on a snag halfway through. Then the tears were unstoppable, coming flooding down her face, she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle them as best she could.

Alex’s face crumpled, moving quick as lightning to wrap his arms around her, hold her close, rock her against him.

It didn’t need to pass between them, verbal confirmation of what they were talking about, what they were both crying over. It just didn’t need saying.

“Oh Eliza,” Alex murmured tearfully into her hair, “It…it’ll be okay…”

“How?” the word wrenched from her heaving ribs, her fingers digging into him as panic threatened to pull her down.

“I don’t know,” Alex had to admit after a beat’s pause, his throat constricting, “But it will, it has to be.”

“B-but if we can’t…if we can’t save him, how can we save any of them?” Eliza sobs were like shards of broken glass, tearing and fractured, “He’s so sad, Alex, he’s dying…and it’s our fault!”

“Betsey, honey, no…” Alex whimpered, crossing his arms over her shoulders, the truth of her words tasting like bitter poison.

“I can’t let him go, I can’t, I can’t, he’s my baby, he’s mine , I need him, I can’t-” Eliza’s gasps were frantic, these hysterics replacing her breath, terror replacing her oxygen. She felt dizzy.

Alex pulled away, hands snapping to her face, feeling her shivers and convulsions.

“Eliza!” he only rose his voice to pull her back, give her the shock she needed to finally shove the panic from her shoulders. Still, it broke his heart to see the moment’s flash of fear in her dark eyes before the sadness caved in on it. But also, a little relief, a little gratitude. She recognised that he’d brought her back.

“Sweetheart, the baby,” he reminded her gently, bringing the heaviness in the front of her back into focus, “Just breathe for me, okay?”

Eliza did, the gulps of air raw on her throat but welcome. She stroked her bump, hands still shaking, “I’m sorry, honey…Mama’s sorry…”

She got no answer, of course, but it made them both feel just a little bit better.

Eliza wept, more controlled but still so broken hearted, resting her forehead on Alex’s chest as her tears dripped onto their clasped hands in her lap.

“It’s just not fair,” she murmured after a while.

“I know, Betsey,” Alex’s reply was grim, the voice of a man faced by an undeniable truth he hated, “I know.”

Of course, Alex thought but didn’t say, if he’d just taken his skin all those years ago and ran back to the sea, if he’d given Eliza that momentary heartbreak, only to free her to go off and fall in love with someone normal, if only their babies didn’t have a lost freak for a father, if he hadn’t been so selfish to break the laws of nature and drag Eliza and now their children down with him…

Too late to think of such things now.

“I will let him go,” Eliza whimpered, prompting Alex to hold her hand tighter, “I won’t let him die here. But…it just hurts so much…”

Alex’s mouth twisted, stroking his thumb across her palm, not having anything to say to that.

Eliza gave a bitter laugh, bringing their joined hands to her belly, “And I thought…I thought giving birth to them was the worst pain I’d ever have to face. But it’s nothing compared to this…”

Alex gave a small, tortured moan of sympathy, resting his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” it sounded so limp, so pathetic, but it was all he had to give her now.

Eliza’s voice shuddered, “I love you too.”

Alex resolved to have a conversation with his eldest before the week was done.

As it happened, Alex’s chance came the very next day, pounced on him without his knowledge before he could properly brace himself. Maybe things would have gone better, gone differently, if he’d had the time to prepare.

But Alex knew the time to ground himself, to strategize and plan was long gone, as soon as he walked into his bedroom, thinking to change his shirt after realising that this was the one that Jamie had spit up on last week and perhaps needed another run through the wash before it was sociably acceptable again, and saw Philip. Hunched over and whirling around in the blink of an eye with the unmistakable sound of a trunk lid closing, his eyes wide and startled like an animal caught in headlights and seeing death and danger rushing towards him. In that split second, Alex knew he was out of time.

“Pip,” it wasn’t a question or a query, his son’s guilty blush took away any need for that.

His jaw dropped, an excuse or a fumbled explanation or hastily cobbled vindication probably teetering on the edge of his teeth, ready to fall but, looking in his father’s dark, unflinching eyes, stiff with resignation and acceptance, they shrivelled up and died with only a moment’s desperate stammering.

“I just wanted to look at it…” Philip mumbled shamefully, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Alex’s head swam and he took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, he needed every scrap of his wits that he could gather for this conversation.

“Why?” he sighed eventually, sinking to the floor, crossing his legs so he could face his son on an equal footing. At fourteen years old, he thought Philip deserved that.

The boy shifted and hugged his arms tight around himself, blushing so fiercely it was like Alex could feel the heat radiating off him.

“I don’t know, Pops,” the teenage compulsion not to give anything away still held him fast, the lack of understanding of his own feelings making the idea of sharing them with anyone else, even his father, seem reprehensible, like running down a crowded street with no clothes on.

Alex wasn’t sure how much his son needed telling, how much he’d guessed, how much he knew like the words were carried in his blood.

“You know…you understand what…what that is? What I am?” he tried not to sound like he was ashamed of it.

Philip shrank in on himself a little, the words struggling in his throat, “We’re different, aren’t we? Us a little bit. You most of all.”

Alex’s heart throbbed, “You’re my children. You get it from me.”

The confirmation of what Philip had always suspected but never known for sure, that he felt his heart being ripped in two, his head and his heart pulled in two completely different directions and it was all because of his father. Because he wasn’t like the other people Philip saw every day, the other fathers he knew.

Did he hate his father for giving him this ache? He didn’t want to…

“I don’t belong here, Pops,” there was more venom in his voice that he’d intended, it bled out of his thoughts and into his tone, “Your…this…” he gestured vaguely to the box, to the one edge of the seal skin hanging like a limp tongue where Philip had been unable to shove it out of sight as he’d been caught red handed, “This can take me where I do belong. Cos it isn’t here.”

Alex winced, Philip saw it.

“You do,” though he didn’t sound certain, “Pip, you do or…I mean, you can. You’re more human than me.”

“No, I don’t,” Philip snapped, resenting the implication in his father’s words that it was somehow his fault. You can . As if he wasn’t already trying so hard? As if he hadn’t been fighting this feeling for as long as he could remember?

“Pops, if I belonged here, I wouldn’t feel like this!” he gasped, horrified to feel tears building in his eyes, “It wouldn’t hurt so much!”

“Son, I understand,” Alex began to panic, getting the feeling he’d made some slip of the tongue but not sure where. Oh, he wasn’t doing this right, he was ruining everything…

“How can you understand?” Philip flared, his sadness turning to anger like an unstoppable chemical reaction, flaring to life, “You’re happy, you don’t feel it like I do.”

“Yes, Philip, I do!” Alex burst out. His hands had flown to clutch at his chest at some point, “I feel it every damn day, the only thing that keeps me here is you! You, Angie, AJ, Jamie, your mama. You keep me here, my love for all of you, your love, that’s what grounds me, it can work for you too- “

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have been avoiding me for so long!” Philip’s eyes went black with anger, “Maybe you should have helped me, if you love me so damn much.”

“I…no…” Alex was knocked off his feet, he found himself floundering.

He hadn’t. Had he? Had he been so afraid of facing this, facing his son’s pain and what might have to be done to fix it, that he was the one who’d closed the bridge between them? No…

“I didn’t mean to, Philip,” Alex quelled under the fury in his little boy’s eyes, “If I did, I’m so sorry, I just…I didn’t know how to explain it…”

“You knew!” Philip raged, a realisation that had been brewing for a while crashing over him in a red rush, “You knew I was unhappy, you knew I didn’t belong here! And you knew exactly how to help me but you locked it away!”

“Hey now!” Alex snapped back, stress and fear and guilt crashing together in his chest and producing anger, “Just calm down okay? Let me explain…”

“You don’t need to,” Philip hissed, looking like every hair on his head was standing, fuelled by a manic electricity, “I understand fine.”

He got to his feet, moving so fast he blurred, like a character in a movie reel with half of the scenes cut away, going for the skin or the door, Alex couldn’t know, he just knew he had to stop him and make him listen, he couldn’t bear his eldest being mad at him. His hand flashed out and closed around his son’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. Shock was mirrored in both of their eyes as they looked at each other.

Alex had never grabbed any of his children before.

“Philip. Son. Please,” he sounded like he was begging and maybe he was.

“You’re being selfish,” Philip spoke in a terrifyingly quiet voice, eyes crackling like magnetic ore brought too close to each other, “You want to keep me here even if it hurts me, just so you don’t have to let me go. I might as well be your fucking prisoner.”

Alex baulked like his son had hit him between the ribs.

“I just…I love you…” he rasped, shaking all over.

“That doesn’t make this okay!”

“You’re my firstborn, I couldn’t just say goodbye to you like it’s nothing, Philip, you have to understand…”

“ You have to understand; do you want me to feel sorry for you?”

“Do you not see what this would do to your mama? The little ones, they idolise you…”

“Don’t try and make me feel guilty!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Let go of me!”

“Philip, you’re not listening- “

“You knew- “

“ Philip.”

“No!”

He wrenched his arm away, his face a wash with angry tears, cheeks flamed and eyes pitted. He was trembling, body tense like he was ready to strike. The moment that stretched on into a dark and desperate infinity between them was one of the worst of Alex’s entire life, his heart screaming at him to take it back, take it all back, begging the seconds to reverse, for time to, just this once, let him try again and make something better out of this.

In Philip’s thunderous expression, he saw his mother. He saw her face as she’d fled, as the man whose name Alex had never known but whose face he’d never forget caught her arm and threw her to the ground, reached for the sealskin she grasped frenziedly, covered in sand and shivering with fear, anger, hatred. Only his thin, reedy cry, one last call for her to come home to him after all the ones he’d thrown into the night over the years, the one she finally heard, had given Rachel the strength to claw at his eyes with her nails and snatch the second that gave her to break away and speed down to the shoreline back to her son.

But Alex’s son was here, in front of him. And it was Alex himself who’d caused the look on his face.

“Oh Philip,” he choked, breaking, falling to his knees.

What had he done?

More than half of Philip wanted to burst into tears and beg for forgiveness, hold his father and take it all back, tell him he didn’t mean it. But the part that was still angry had too much momentum, too much truth in it to be stopped now. So, he ran and left his father to his tears.

Should have taken the skin, he thought to himself as the door clattered shut behind him, would have muffled the sound of his dad crying if it wasn’t echoing clear as day in Philip’s mind already. But his feet were already carrying him, moving independently, nothing to be done now. Joints spinning, nerves sparking, muscles pistoling. What’s done was done.

He passed Angie on the stairs. Her eyes widened in shock, her face paled. They’d always been able to read each other, he and the first sibling who’d made him a big brother. And Angie saw it in the brief instant she was given as he bolted past, that something was very, very wrong.

“Pip, no!” she wasn’t even sure what she was saying no too, just knew it was the right thing to say, “No, please!”

“Sorry,” was all Philip had time to gasp out before he was careening down the too steep steps, coming so close to losing his footing and probably breaking his neck but catching himself on the banister at the last possible second, propelling himself forward and out of the front door in the same beat.

And then he was gone.

To go after him or not? The question was a painful stab sliding in between her ribs. She could catch him, she was faster than he was. Make him listen. Risk breaking her wrists into splinters trying to stop this wheel turning.

But then Alex’s sobs reached her ears and the decision was made for her.

No ten-year-old swore lightly; she’d just learned the power of such words and respected it gravely. But now felt like the time.

“Pip, you fucking moron,” she whispered tearfully, as she turned and ran to comfort her father.

Philip kept on running.

Years ago, his mama and pops had explained the odd, detached sounding phrase ADHD, after his first-grade teacher had called them in for a meeting where Philip had been left alone on a chair outside the classroom, wondering what he’d done wrong, why he was in trouble. But he hadn’t gotten a telling off, mama had given him a fierce, tight hug and pops had kissed his curls, they’d both told him how much they loved him and that everything was going to be okay.

He’d understood it a little more as he’d grown up, when it had sunk in in a fractured sort of way that teachers treated him differently, he was taken out of the room to do his tests and exams, the careful way certain adults spoke to him, the fact that not everybody had to take that medicine when their control really slipped. He’d asked his parents to explain it again, they had done, again reassuring him that it wasn’t anything bad, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Everything was going to be okay.

The words and the medical terms and the forms, all seeming so foreboding and menacing, didn’t mean that much to him. Philip only knew it as a buzzing in his heart, like a bee trapped under a glass and left, knocking against a surface it tried so hard to but just couldn’t get past, it was a sense of discomfort in the pit of him that made doing what seemed so simple to other people difficult for him.  

So now he ran every day, long runs up and down the beach, seeing if he could beat his time from before, a constant race against himself. It was mama who’d had the idea at first, she was always the one who knew what to do. As soon as her boy had come to her, his face forlorn and frustrated, asking if he couldn’t just get rid of this, if there was some operation or trick he could learn to make it go away, she’d leapt into action and, as always, come up with the answer. It had really been helping Philip, actually, feeling the restlessness and the need to fidget and be loud leech out of him, like it was left behind in bright red paint splatters every time the soles of his trainers hit the ground, like it sweated out of him along with the water and salt he had to wipe off his face on his arm once he was done.

So now he ran. But this time, it was doing him no good. The stress only built with every heavy, frantic step, the pulsing behind his eyeballs only got louder until it felt like if he wasn’t careful, they’d slip right out of his sockets and he’d have to scrabble on the ground to get them back before they rolled away. The image made him feel sick and he now ran with his palms pressed to the sides of his head.

He could still hear his father crying. Crying because of what he’d said.

Philip hadn’t wanted any of this, this wasn’t how he’d wanted it to go. He only wanted to stop feeling so lost and rotten all the time, he’d just wanted to make them see…

Why had he gone and ruined everything with his big stupid mouth?

Maybe it was the tears in his eyes, maybe it was because his brain was somewhere very far away from his body, somewhere he didn’t even know, but Philip didn’t realise he’d ran into the village until he was hearing snatches of people asking him if he was okay, was something wrong, calling his name in surprised tones, people he knew, who he’d known all his life, obviously surprised and concerned to see him speeding through the main street, crying buckets. He needed to get away from that.

So, the first side street he came across, there wasn’t many in such a small space, he was down it, the tone of his footsteps changing as concrete became cobble but the frantic pace didn’t slow. It couldn’t, he just couldn’t let it, because what the hell was going to happen when he stopped?

Fate or luck or happenstance or whoever had their fingers at the controls right now had a different plan. Philip didn’t see what it was, a cobble out of place or a bit of garbage from one of the overflowing trash cans from the café next door that he accidentally kicked but suddenly his legs was where his head had been, the ground was suddenly right in front of his eyes and, after a long moment where the world seemed to still and slow and pull out like molasses around him, pain was exploding against his arm and his temple and his hip, one side then the other at least five times before he eventually came to a stop. For once, his unnatural speed worked against him; any other fourteen-year-old boy running and falling, even as fast as they could possibly go, would have suffered maybe only scrapes and bruises and nothing more. Philip, however, was broken like a ragdoll.

“Shit…” he groaned into the loud ringing as the world rolled to a slow, languid halt about three seconds after he himself did. That was going to hurt like hell as soon as his nerves stopped drunkenly spinning, he could tell.

He couldn’t help feeling like he deserved it.

Philip’s shell-shocked mind began making the most of the hazy few seconds before the pain hit, figuring out how he was going to get himself to a doctor if it turned out something was broken, where he could get bandages and an ice pack without it somehow getting back to his parents. At that thought, that pragmatic, rational thought, he felt the hot rush of a sob rising in his throat.

He wanted his mama. He was a scared, injured little kid and he wanted his mama to hug him and kiss where it hurt. He wanted his Pops to give him some water and rub the aching spots until they felt better and tell him how brave he was.

It was such a miserable, desperate want, as soon as it surfaced he was sobbing, his whole body shaking and shuddering as he curled in on his side, half in the gutter, wailing for his parents and for everything he’d lost in the simple yet painful act of growing up.

Philip cried so bitterly, he wasn’t aware of the hands helping him up and a warm voice speaking soothing words until he was suddenly upright, propped against the lamppost his spine had slammed into.

He jumped a little, resisting the touch as he felt it, the fact that it came from nowhere panicking him even though it was gentle and soft.

“Oh, sorry!” the girl jumped too, taking her hands away, “I didn’t mean to startle you…you probably need to sit down, you’ve gone really pale…”

Philip frowned in confusion more than hostility, he didn’t recognise this young girl. Which was incredibly rare. He’d been living in this small town all his life, he knew everyone.

So, who was this?

“Are you okay?” the girl’s voice was nice to listen to, especially after taking a fearsome and painful crash. Low and quiet, the voice of someone who could fix things, “You look...well, you don’t look good.”

Dry, too. Philip tilted his head, his muscles relaxing as much as they were able with pain signals going so haywire through them.

“People don’t tend to after they’ve gone ass over head,” he rasped, blinking dizzily.

“Guess not,” the girl laughed, looking surprised but pleased, probably surmising that if Philip could make wisecracks, he probably didn’t have brain damage.

“You probably should sit down though,” she insisted, a little more firmly, hands on his shoulders moving him to the ground. He went willingly.

“So…um, what’s your name?” Pip asked, deciding to make casual conversation as the girl began studying him critically in a way that made him feel like a case study in a medical textbook or an interesting specimen at a museum.

“Theodosia Burr,” she answered in that dignified yet honey sweet voice of hers, as she picked up one of his hands and began moving the fingers back and forth one by one.

“That’s…wow, that’s a cool name,” Philip was aware how limp that sounded but for some reason the brush of her skin on his, even if it was so practiced and formal, made him shiver and made his tongue feel thicker than it was.

“Everyone says that,” a pretty, measured smile upturned her full lips, “I know it makes me sound like some stuffy countess…or a really bad perfume brand. You can call me Theo, makes it easier.”

Philip snorted with laughter, her easy jokes seemed so at odds with her almost regal demeanour, they were like flashes of sunlight through a thick blanket of clouds.

“No, I mean it. It’s really nice,” he maintained, not wanting her to mistake his burst of laughter as him making fun of her, “My names- “

“Philip, right? Philip Hamilton?” Theo finished the sentence for him, moving on to gently rotating the joints up his arm. He realised now she was making sure nothing was dislocated.

“Yeah?” he was a little taken aback. For a second, under that cool, searching gaze, he genuinely believed she’d plucked his name right from his mind.

She smiled coyly, “The lady we’re renting a room from told me about you. Cos we’re the same age I guess, in case I was looking for a friend.”

“Oh…” Philip nodded slowly.

“And, to be honest, how many other six foot fourteen year olds covered in freckles with that much hair can there be in one village?” Theo’s smile grew wider.

She wasn’t afraid to say anything, Philip noted with an impressed flutter, feeling his face grow hot. He wondered if there was anything in the world Miss Theodosia Burr was afraid of.

“Nah, just one,” he smiled, “I’m Philip.”

“Well, it’s really nice to meet you,” Theo nodded, satisfied that none of his limbs were broken so she pulled a tissue out of her pocket and began cleaning the angry, bloody torn skin visible through a brand-new rip in the knee of his jeans, “Though if it could have been done without you getting beat up, I’d have preferred that.”

“Me too,” Philip grunted, trying not to show too much discomfort as his broken skin yelped in pain. To distract himself, he kept on talking. Talking had always been his response to everything, “So you’re renting Mrs Henderson’s flat, huh?”

“Yep. Me and my dad,” Theo nodded. She had a wonderful set of curls, Philip noticed, they were raven black and sprang playfully whenever she moved her head.

“On a…permanent basis or are you on vacation?” He didn’t know why it was suddenly so important to him to know the answer to that question, why the pause before she answered made his heart clench.

“Permanent,” Theo replied simply, now producing a bottle of water from her rucksack which Philip was now mentally comparing to Mary Poppins’ carpet bag, passing it to him to take a sip from which he gladly did, “Or as close to permanent so that it makes no difference.”

She had the easily radical vernacular of someone who was very well read, “Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Theo nodded, “My dad used to be a lawyer. But then after my mom died, he kind of lost his drive for it. For everything really. So, he’s been in therapy and they advised taking it easy. So, he’s gonna be a cartographer. He always wanted to try it and now I guess he is. Suppose Oregon must be the best place to do that kind of thing?”

Philip really wished he could do something more than stare at her, his jaw a little slack. He really, really wished he could but what were you supposed to say to that?

Theo looked up from where she was cleaning gravel out of his cut as gently as she possibly could, a wry smile on her face, “Sorry. It’s been a year and a half, at some point I just decided to stop being so guarded about telling people.”

“No, it…it’s okay,” Philip said hurriedly, shaking his head, “You’re right.”

Theo’s smile became much warmer, “Thanks. I thought so,” she took a breath, suddenly seeming much busier with cleaning his injuries, “Look, seeing as we’re being honest. I know it’s none of my business really but you were really booking it there. Everything okay?”

Was he?

“Was I?”

“Yeah,” Theo nodded, looking like someone crossing a river by carefully stepping from stone to stone, wanting not to slip and get their toes wet, “Would have said you were running from something. If you were to ask my opinion.”

Philip felt walls of ragged vines and impassable thickets push up against the soil inside him, ready to spring out and form a barrier around his heart that this girl, the first stranger he’d met in a very long time, would never find her way through. But just before they could, there was another voice inside him, a voice much more certain and sure and relaxed. The voice of the adult that Philip would grow up to be, the voice he was starting to hear sometimes in amongst all the confusing stuff he was so scared of.

The voice told him to trust her, to trust Theodosia who preferred to be called Theo because it was easier. Who was currently carefully prodding her way up his leg, checking for anything broken.

“I had a fight with my dad,” he admitted in a small voice, “So I was trying to get away from all that, I guess. You know how it sometimes feels like you can outrun stuff even when it’s inside you?”

Theo glanced up at him, the eyes he suddenly realised were a gorgeous warm brown were full of understanding, “Yeah. I really, really do… and I understand difficult dads. So. Two for two on that one.”

He gave her a little smile, believing her and trusting her and liking her all the more.

That moment, small but feeling huge in its sweetness, was interrupted suddenly as Theo’s fingers found a sort of sunken pit under the skin of Philip’s right shin where there should have been hard bone and he howled in pain.

“Sorry! Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Theo cried, pulling her hands away like she was frightened her touch was burning him.

“S’okay,” Philip wheezed, though the sickening pain as she’d pressed there had brought him within a hair’s breadth of vomiting.

“I think you’ve broken something in there,” Theo’s expression was concerned, “You need the hospital.”

Philip’s heart plummeted, “Oh…”

Theo saw and understood the shift in his expression, “Probably time to call your parents?”

He knew she was right. If he ever needed a clearer wakeup call that this thing with Pops had to end, this was it.

Though that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Yeah, I’ll call them,” he sighed, shifting up a little before the realisation that he didn’t have his phone, after his screaming match with his father it just hadn’t registered.

Theo gave him a small smile, digging in her pocket and holding out a slim, more expensive phone than his, “Trade you.”

“For what?” he blinked.

“For letting me come to the hospital with you,” she cracked a grin, “Because, no offence? But you’re the most interesting person I’ve met since I got here so I’m not going to let you just walk off. Also? You look like you need someone sensible around at all times to keep an eye on you.”

Philip’s heart felt so much lighter looking at that smile, so light that it felt as if it would float right up and out of his mouth and into the sky.

As Theo passed him her phone, their hands met. They stayed joined as Philip tapped in the cottage’s phone number. And they didn’t come apart for a while.

It was even longer than that before it occurred to Philip that, if Theo’s hand was held in his, he couldn’t hear the chattering from the sea, the indecipherable prattle of whispers that had been driving him crazy for weeks.

He just couldn’t hear them.

Alex didn’t go with Eliza to the hospital to get Philip’s leg seen to. Angie went, holding her pale mother’s shaking hand. AJ went, someone needing to keep an eye on Jamie, who burst into tears at the thought of not being able to go and see if his big brother was okay.

So, Alex was left alone. Eliza thought that was best.

He could tell she was angry at him, as much as she sympathised and ached for him. The anger had been obvious in that glance she’d given him as she’d hastily pulled a coat on, the frantic kiss she’d planted on his cheek as she’d whirled away, herding their children like frightened ducklings. His mouth had opened to insist that he be the one to go, she needed rest, she was too big, she needed to calm down. But he’d shut it again with a snap after that glance.

Eliza had every right to be angry at him; for crying out loud, he was angry with himself. He couldn’t have handled things worse with Philip and now his little boy was hurt because of it.

He’d just wanted to make him understand…

Alex tried to take deep shuddering breaths, legs shaking as he took himself from the door where he’d limply waved as the car had driven off to the couch where he sat down heavily with his head between his knees.

“Please,” he croaked, not sure who it was he spoke to, just anyone who might be listening, anyone who would take pity on him after everything he’d done, “Please don’t let it be too late.”

God, he loved Philip so much. He loved him so much it hurt, so much he wanted to cover his face in his hands and scream until he ran out of air, just with the intensity of it. But that just hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been enough to keep him here, to stop his hurting, to keep him from running away. It was everything Alex could give but it still hadn’t been enough.

“No,” he murmured, voice hoarse, echoing through the now empty cottage like a whisper in a cathedral, something invading and perverse in the quiet space that shocked him and made him clamp his jaw shut, resolving to speak just in his mind.

It wasn’t everything he could give.

What was it he’d said to Jamie just yesterday, when he’d been trying to get his youngest to take the foul tasting, chalky medicine that the doctor promised would clear up his fever? Sometimes things sucked but you just had to do them. It didn’t seem fair but you just had to do it because that was the way life was.

No wonder Jamie had given him such a look, Alex thought, his nose wrinkling, it was awful advice.

But it was true.

You just had to do them. It was the way life was.

Alex stood, bones creaking in a way they never used to when he was a younger man, when he wasn’t any kind of man at all. He wasn’t especially good at it but this time it worked; his brain switched off everything in him that didn’t think completely clinically and practically. All emotions were swept to the side and locked away somewhere, giving him a clean ten-minute reprieve before they broke their way out again.

He needed to stay calm. He needed to move fast.

He needed something very, very sharp.

#hamliza #alexander x eliza #selkie au #angst #philip hamilton #theodosia burr #phildosia #philtheo #please comment and let me know what you liked!

[5taylifted-blog]

Taking A Closer Look: How Our Words Create Our Reality

I have this quasi tarot card deck that is called, “Seeds of Wisdom” by Elka and the purpose of the book and deck is to assist in guidance and growth. There are twelve cards in the deck for the twelve months we have in the year. Each card deals with a different theme. 

Today is a full moon+Solar eclipse. I started my period yesterday and I feel VERY connected to just about everything. I feel really in sync. As I cement and hone in on my spiritual practice, I love shuffling both my tarot decks and calling upon the Divine Energy and Spirit Guides to help guide me navigate today’s realm so that I may do my best and feel my best in every moment I experience. 

Today is a big day for me. I have two meetings, one in the morning at 10:30 am and the other later at 8:00 pm. In between, I am shopping for my girl’s birthday present+my dad’s bday present, and I have a manifestation class at 6! I’m really looking forward to learning tips and hacks on how to solidify my intention setting and manifesting abilities. I want to really get laser like focus in that class and really figure out the best way for me to learn to manifest what is most important and in alignment with my passions and values. 

I woke up this morning and lit up my luxurious, scented candle along with the palo santo and gave thanks for a beautiful morning, and for my beautiful, fulfilled, and blessed life. 

The cards that I pulled today are the Eight of Cups and the Creation Card. I feel that I am right on track with where I am meant to be. School is going great, work is fabulous, my personal relationships are taking off, and my social life is awesome. Really, my life isn’t perfect, but it’s magical and amazing for me and I am so happy and grateful I get to wake up every morning and I get to be ME. I’ve been working on reprogramming my mindset, my words, my beliefs, everything that is holding me back I am acknowledging and releasing. I am meant to shine baby, that’s all I know. I am the stuff of stars. 

Elka states in this chapter for the Creation card, “use your abundance of life force energy to bring forth life in the form of your heart’s desire. Remember this about creation: it is a messy process. What you are creating may look nothing like your desired outcome. In fact, it may seem like chaos at first. But if your intention is clear and your actions congruent with it, then your creative effort will unfold according to your design. Recognize the power of you words to shape your thoughts into vibrations that interact with the world in a very physical way. Your thoughts are precursors to creation. Your words are vessels of intention. Your actions transform your words into reality, into your Creation.” 

I like to visit the word “spelling”. We learn letters, we learn how to formulate them into words, sentences, and turn them into thoughts, ideas, expressions…if you drop the “ing” part however, you are left with the word “spell”. As in, you are writing and casting a S P E L L. I had this aha moment a few years ago and have been working on mastering my speech and thought patterns ever since. Les Brown, one of my favorite motivational speakers has said, “If you don't’ program yourself, LIFE will program YOU.” There’s these two really awesome books that I’ve been reading/listening to that I feel really get at this from a more practical sense, less woo-woo for those of you who don’t really resonate with this. The first is called, Mind Hacking by John Hargave and the other is called The Slight Edge by Jeff Olson. Mind hacking takes the metaphor of your brain/mind being the same as a computer in that a computer has codes and systems that help it run smoothly. Similarly, the mind has beliefs and behaviors that stem from that belief (those are our ‘codes’). Whenever a computer has a bug, we take it apart to figure out how to debug it and rewrite the code so that the software and computer can run more efficiently. Hargave offers that meditation is an opportunity to learn to train your mind to concentrate. When you can train your mind to focus, you can expand your sense of awareness. You begin to notice things that perhaps, you were too busy in the mind to pay attention to. When you have self awareness you can go about cracking the code and debugging your belief system so that you can rewrite, and reprogram the codes in your mind. If you can do this, you can change the course of you life. You just have to be willing to change, and to be open+receptive. The Slight Edge builds upon the premise that EVERY decision either propels you forward toward your dream or keeps you stuck and stagnant. If you can have that slight edge and do the small things that will garner success, you have a better chance of changing your life for the better. One of my favorite authors, Gretchin Rubin states, “What you do everyday matters more than what you do once in a while.” 

So if we are constantly unaware of how we are feeling, thinking, acting, we are perpetuating this cycle of feeling unfullfilled and being complacent with how things are. Some of you might have even heard the phrase, “its just the way it is.” If you agree, and accept this statement to be true, remember what you think and what you believe becomes true for YOU. If we are constantly engaging in negative self-talk, let me gently remind you that it WILL take some time to get a handle of engaging with yourself and showing yourself compassion by stating in present tense that ‘No, I am not stupid, I refuse this thought and remind myself in this moment that I am loved, I am brilliant, I am deserving of all the good things this world has to offer, and it is readily available to me now by focusing on the good.” 

When I began noticing and paying attention to my own self-talk I felt drained and also shocked at the things I would say to myself. I was in awe that I would be so kind, and considerate for others-heck I’d even bend over backwards for most people, but not for myself, to myself. It felt like a lot of mental gymnastics. Which is why this is a process and it is for life. We have spent most of our lives engaging and participating in this spiral of negative self-talk, criticism, lack of direct communication, and honesty for most of our lives. You can learn to rewire your thoughts. You CAN be confident in expressing your feelings to yourself and others.

I challenge you this week to pay attention to your thoughts. Be an observer in your own body. Like guests checking into a hotel, observe your thoughts (they are the hotel guests) for they will come and go. Pay attention to the thoughts that you ruminate over. Notice how you feel: are they making you feel good or feel bad? Then ask yourself Why? Once you get answer, keep asking yourself another four or five WHYS if it is a thought or emotional situation and you keep ruminating…sit with yourself and your thoughts and just observe and see what you can learn about yourself. 

In a world that tells you how to be and what to be, you must know who you are in order to drown out the lies and the illusion. You are truth. You are love. You are light. 

Make space today to proclaim words that empower, uplift, and change your direction. Your words ARE the ship that will help said in whichever direction you please to go. As always my friends, STAY LIFTED. I love you. Thank you for taking the time to read this.

#fullmoon behavior mindset strategy solareclipse words power intention OM tarot coaching psychedelics trust Universe love

[oxynonsequiturs]

Can I Be a Practicing Christian and Still Support Transgender Rights?

A little over a year ago I received a letter from one of my family members telling me that her youngest child, a 4-year-old, had declared that he was actually a girl and would like to be acknowledged as such. Yes, it appeared that someone in my family is transgender. My first reaction was to wrap my mental arms around this family (mother, father, and three boys – no, two boys and a girl). Then I thought, “How am I, a professed and practicing Christian, supposed to react to this? I love all five of these family members, and I know they are all good people. Is this child sinning by declaring herself to be female when all the physical evidence declares him to be male? Are the parents to blame for somehow encouraging this precious child who may be ‘going through a phase’?” Is the child mentally ill and in need of psychological counseling?

I prayed. I prayed for the compassion and wisdom to understand God’s truth about this situation. I have heard God speak to me quite a few times, and I listened for His voice now and prayed to recognize it as His and not Satan’s.

The first answer I received was, “Love.” Not just the generic familial love I have for every member of my extensive biological and adoptive family, but a specific wrapped-in-my-heart-of-hearts love that promises not only not to condemn but also to defend and protect. In order to do that, I must research this phenomenon that I was sure even then was misunderstood and very complex.

The Internet is a useful tool for research for someone who is not a neurobiologist or geneticist. There are actually articles written for non-scientific types by scientists in the relevant fields. This link is for just one such article, and it explains in a way I can understand (and I hope you can understand, too) why being transgender is not a choice.

http://www.ozy.com/pov/check-the-science-being-trans-is-not-a-choice/69726

Then, this week in church, my pastor made reference to transgender people as “asking us to believe” they are something they physically are not. I was disappointed, and I thought about how I came to the conclusions I have reached regarding transgender people and how I, as a Christian – a follower of Jesus Christ – think about them. But how to explain this in a Christian mindset? After all, I had thought that how you came out of the womb is how God created you. If you had XY chromosomes and male genitalia, you were a boy, and if you had XX chromosomes and female genitalia, you were a girl. However, the more detailed scientists get in “mapping” the chemical and biological structures in the brain, the more confusing it seems to get. The general impression, though, is that areas of the brain that are instrumental in gender identity are actually developed at a different time from the physical genitalia and chromosome patterns. Therefore, it is entirely possible that the person’s gender identity – the gender they feel – can be different from what their body presents itself as. The way I have come to see it, after much prayer and study, this young person is, to the very core of her being – her soul, if you will – a girl. I recently spent three days with this family at Walt Disney World, and I can attest to how much of a girl she really is. It would be cruel to force her to adopt male norms in her thoughts, behaviors, and preferences.

Think about it. If a child is born with a physical defect – a missing limb, or a harelip, for instance – do we not do everything medically (or mechanically) possible to correct the physical deformity so that this person can live what is called a normal life? I know a woman who was born without lower legs or knees. At her birth, the doctor said, “Well, the world doesn’t need another athlete anyway.” This woman has been a swimmer, a gymnast, and a Paralympic runner (in fact, a world record holder). She is now an actress in a successful off-Broadway production. At her birth she had the soul of an athlete, even though she didn’t have the body of an athlete. But instead of forcing her to live a sedentary life – to go against that inner urge to do athletic things, her parents told her to “go for it” and do what she thought she was meant to do. How is that different from having the soul of a girl but the body of a boy?

Or in a hypothetical case, consider the child with the soul of an orator who is born with a harelip. We honor and appreciate those wonderful doctors who travel the world surgically repairing these physical defects so that these children can speak clearly. Again, we are honoring the soul of the child rather than telling him or her that, too bad, you have a harelip; you can’t be a public speaker. We don’t put this child through psychotherapy to “get over” the notion that he/she can be a speaker. My friend’s parents didn’t psycho-analyze her to help her forget about her athletic ambitions. So why should my family members try to make their child go against what she knows with every fiber of her being is the truth?

I believe that God creates us. I believe that God creates the body and the soul. In the case of transgender individuals, the issue is not psychological; it is biological. There are actual physical differences in the brain between cisgender and transgender people. Does God make mistakes? No, He does not! But isn’t it a mistake that the body and brain don’t match? No more of a mistake than an athlete born without legs or an orator born with a harelip. So when the body and the brain do not “match,” which needs to change? Which takes precedence? Isn’t it easier to fix the physical anomalies rather than to try to psychologically “cure” a biological issue? To dig down into the soul and force a person to change the very essence of their being? Do we acknowledge that the amputee is an athlete, or the child who had a harelip is really a good and effective public speaker? Of course we do, and we do everything in our power to help these people achieve what they know to be their true identities.

I keep hearing people say, “God created this child as a boy because he has boy parts.” No. God created this child with boy parts but a girl’s soul. Which part of God’s creation do we honor? I know which I choose.

#transgender #Christian