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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

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Here's a shortlist of those who realized that I — a cis woman who'd identified as heterosexual for decades of life — was in fact actually bi, long before I realized it myself recently: my sister, all my friends, my boyfriend, and the TikTok algorithm.

On TikTok, the relationship between user and algorithm is uniquely (even sometimes uncannily) intimate. An app which seemingly contains as many multitudes of life experiences and niche communities as there are people in the world, we all start in the lowest common denominator of TikTok. Straight TikTok (as it's popularly dubbed) initially bombards your For You Page with the silly pet videos and viral teen dances that folks who don't use TikTok like to condescendingly reduce it to.

Quickly, though, TikTok begins reading your soul like some sort of divine digital oracle, prying open layers of your being never before known to your own conscious mind. The more you use it, the more tailored its content becomes to your deepest specificities, to the point where you get stuff that's so relatable that it can feel like a personal attack (in the best way) or (more dangerously) even a harmful trigger from lifelong traumas.

For example: I don't know what dark magic (read: privacy violations) immediately clued TikTok into the fact that I was half-Brazilian, but within days of first using it, Straight TikTok gave way to at first Portuguese-speaking then broader Latin TikTok. Feeling oddly seen (being white-passing and mostly American-raised, my Brazilian identity isn't often validated), I was liberal with the likes, knowing that engagement was the surefire way to go deeper down this identity-affirming corner of the social app.

TikTok made lots of assumptions from there, throwing me right down the boundless, beautiful, and oddest multiplicities of Alt TikTok, a counter to Straight TikTok's milquetoast mainstreamness.

Home to a wide spectrum of marginalized groups, I was giving out likes on my FYP like Oprah, smashing that heart button on every type of video: from TikTokers with disabilities, Black and Indigenous creators, political activists, body-stigma-busting fat women, and every glittering shade of the LGBTQ cornucopia. The faves were genuine, but also a way to support and help offset what I knew about the discriminatory biases in TikTok's algorithm.

My diverse range of likes started to get more specific by the minute, though. I wasn't just on general Black TikTok anymore, but Alt Cottagecore Middle-Class Black Girl TikTok (an actual label one creator gave her page's vibes). Then it was Queer Latina Roller Skating Girl TikTok, Women With Non-Hyperactive ADHD TikTok, and then a double whammy of Women Loving Women (WLW) TikTok alternating between beautiful lesbian couples and baby bisexuals.

Looking back at my history of likes, the transition from queer “ally” to “salivating simp” is almost imperceptible.

There was no one precise "aha" moment. I started getting "put a finger down" challenges that wouldn't reveal what you were putting a finger down for until the end. Then, 9-fingers deep (winkwink), I'd be congratulated for being 100% bisexual. Somewhere along the path of getting served multiple WLW Disney cosplays in a single day and even dom lesbian KinkTok roleplay — or whatever the fuck Bisexual Pirate TikTok is — deductive reasoning kind of spoke for itself.

But I will never forget the one video that was such a heat-seeking missile of a targeted attack that I was moved to finally text it to my group chat of WLW friends with a, "Wait, am I bi?" To which the overwhelming consensus was, "Magic 8 Ball says, 'Highly Likely.'"

Serendipitously posted during Pride Month, the video shows a girl shaking her head at the caption above her head, calling out confused and/or closeted queers who say shit like, "I think everyone is a LITTLE bisexual," to the tune of "Closer" by The Chainsmokers. When the lyrics land on the word "you," she points straight at the screen — at me — her finger and inquisitive look piercing my hopelessly bisexual soul like Cupid's goddamn arrow.

Oh no, the voice inside my head said, I have just been mercilessly perceived.

As someone who had, in fact, done feminist studies at a tiny liberal arts college with a gender gap of about 70 percent women, I'd of course dabbled. I've always been quick to bring up the Kinsey scale, to champion a true spectrum of sexuality, and to even declare (on multiple occasions) that I was, "straight, but would totally fuck that girl!"

Oh no, the voice inside my head returned, I've literally just been using extra words to say I was bi.

After consulting the expertise of my WLW friend group (whose mere existence, in retrospect, also should've clued me in on the flashing neon pink, purple, and blue flag of my raging bisexuality), I ran to my boyfriend to inform him of the "news."

"Yeah, baby, I know. We all know," he said kindly.

"How?!" I demanded.

Well for one, he pointed out, every time we came across a video of a hot girl while scrolling TikTok together, I'd without fail watch the whole way through, often more than once, regardless of content. (Apparently, straight girls do not tend to do this?) For another, I always breathlessly pointed out when we'd pass by a woman I found beautiful, often finding a way to send a compliment her way. ("I'm just a flirt!" I used to rationalize with a hand wave, "Obvs, I'm not actually sexually attracted to them!") Then, I guess, there were the TED Talk-like rants I'd subject him to about the thinly veiled queer relationship in Adventure Time between Princess Bubblegum and Marcelyne the Vampire Queen — which the cowards at Cartoon Network forced creators to keep as subtext!

And, well, when you lay it all out like that...

But my TikTok-fueled bisexual awakening might actually speak less to the omnipotence of the app's algorithm, and more to how heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

Sure, TikTok bombarded me with the thirst traps of my exact type of domineering masc lady queers, who reduced me to a puddle of drool I could no longer deny. But I also recalled a pivotal moment in college when I briefly questioned my heterosexuality, only to have a lesbian friend roll her eyes and chastise me for being one of those straight girls who leads Actual Queer Women on. I figured she must know better. So I never pursued any of my lady crushes in college, which meant I never experimented much sexually, which made me conclude that I couldn't call myself bisexual if I'd never had actual sex with a woman. I also didn't really enjoy lesbian porn much, though the fact that I'd often find myself fixating on the woman during heterosexual porn should've clued me into that probably coming more from how mainstream lesbian porn is designed for straight men.

The ubiquity of heterormativity, even when unwittingly perpetrated by members of the queer community, is such an effective self-sustaining cycle. Aside from being met with queer-gating (something I've since learned bi folks often experience), I had a hard time identifying my attraction to women as genuine attraction, simply because it felt different to how I was attracted to men.

Heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

So much of women's sexuality — of my sexuality — can feel defined by that carnivorous kind of validation you get from men. I met no societal resistance in fully embodying and exploring my desire for men, either (which, to be clear, was and is insatiable slut levels of wanting that peen.) But in retrospect, I wonder how many men I slept with not because I was truly attracted to them, but because I got off on how much they wanted me.

My attraction to women comes with a different texture of eroticism. With women (and bare with a baby bi, here), the attraction feels more shared, more mutual, more tender rather than possessive. It's no less raw or hot or all-consuming, don't get me wrong. But for me at least, it comes more from a place of equality rather than just power play. I love the way women seem to see right through me, to know me, without us really needing to say a word.

I am still, as it turns out, a sexual submissive through-and-through, regardless of what gender my would-be partner is. But, ignorantly and unknowingly, I'd been limiting my concept of who could embody dominant sexual personas to cis men. But when TikTok sent me down that glorious rabbit hole of masc women (who know exactly what they're doing, btw), I realized my attraction was not to men, but a certain type of masculinity. It didn't matter which body or genitalia that presentation came with.

There is something about TikTok that feels particularly suited to these journeys of sexual self-discovery and, in the case of women loving women, I don't think it's just the prescient algorithm. The short-form video format lends itself to lightning bolt-like jolts of soul-bearing nakedness, with the POV camera angles bucking conventions of the male gaze, which entrenches the language of film and TV in heterosexual male desire.

In fairness to me, I'm far from the only one who missed their inner gay for a long time — only to have her pop out like a queer jack-in-the-box throughout a near year-long quarantine that led many of us to join TikTok. There was the baby bi mom, and scores of others who no longer had to publicly perform their heterosexuality during lockdown — only to realize that, hey, maybe I'm not heterosexual at all?

Flooded with video after video affirming my suspicions, reflecting my exact experiences as they happened to others, the change in my sexual identity was so normalized on TikTok that I didn't even feel like I needed to formally "come out." I thought this safe home I'd found to foster my baby bisexuality online would extend into the real world.

But I was in for a rude awakening.

Testing out my bisexuality on other platforms, casually referring to it on Twitter, posting pictures of myself decked out in a rainbow skate outfit (which I bought before realizing I was queer), I received nothing but unquestioning support and validation. Eventually, I realized I should probably let some members of my family know before they learned through one of these posts, though.

Daunted by the idea of trying to tell my Latina Catholic mother and Swiss Army veteran father (who's had a crass running joke about me being a "lesbian" ever since I first declared myself a feminist at age 12), I chose the sibling closest to me. Seeing as how gender studies was one of her majors in college too, I thought it was a shoo-in. I sent an off-handed, joke-y but serious, "btw I'm bi now!" text, believing that's all that would be needed to receive the same nonchalant acceptance I found online.

It was not.

I didn't receive a response for two days. Hurt and panicked by what was potentially my first mild experience of homophobia, I called them out. They responded by insisting we need to have a phone call for such "serious" conversations. As I calmly tried to express my hurt on said call, I was told my text had been enough to make this sibling worry about my mental wellbeing. They said I should be more understanding of why it'd be hard for them to (and I'm paraphrasing) "think you were one way for twenty-eight years" before having to contend with me deciding I was now "something else."

But I wasn't "something else," I tried to explain, voice shaking. I hadn't knowingly been deceiving or hiding this part of me. I'd simply discovered a more appropriate label. But it was like we were speaking different languages. Other family members were more accepting, thankfully. There are many ways I'm exceptionally lucky, my IRL environment as supportive as Baby Bi TikTok. Namely, I'm in a loving relationship with a man who never once mistook any of it as a threat, instead giving me all the space in the world to understand this new facet of my sexuality.

I don't have it all figured out yet. But at least when someone asks if I listen to Girl in Red on social media, I know to answer with a resounding, "Yes," even though I've never listened to a single one of her songs. And for now, that's enough.

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takingcourage · 5 years

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1, 8 & 11 for Liam x Mc? 💗

Thanks so much for your request, @victoricfontaine. : ) I was initially only planning to take prompts for Jaime x MC, but TRH has me falling for Liam all over again. Having an excuse to write him was a treat. I hope you enjoy!

#1 - slow dancing

Eliza raised the glass to her lips casually, allowing the champagne to fully coat her tongue before swallowing. Liam had left the table shortly after their meal ended, yet he still hadn’t returned. She'd done an admirable job of keeping up the conversation with the dignitaries seated around her, but the surreptitious glances she made toward the other end of the room were leaving her more than a little distracted.

It wasn't as though the ambassador who’d cornered her husband posed him any harm. Still, she knew from previous experiences just how exhausting that particular man's stories could be. Gracious as ever, Liam only smiled politely as the droning continued. But Eliza could tell it wasn't genuine even before the momentary meeting of their eyes.

I can’t take this anymore, she determined, offering a quiet excuse to her companions as she stood. Skirts rustling behind her, she traveled the length of the room with purpose in her step. Liam’s face lit with genuine happiness at the sight of her, and he extended an a hand to beckon her to his side.

"Ah, Queen Eliza. It's very lovely to see you."

“Likewise, Ambassador Simon,” she greeting, slipping a hand around Liam’s arm. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I wondered if I might borrow my husband for a dance?" Though she offered the phrase as a question, there was little doubt in her mind that he would comply. It was one of the benefits of her position.

“Of course.”

"I’ll remind Douglas to follow up with you later this week," Liam assured, bringing the conversation to a close. Sated, the ambassador turned away, leaving Eliza with Liam’s full attention.

"Is everything all right?” he asked her in mild concern.

"Can’t I request a dance with my husband?” Tightening her grip on his arm, she pulled him toward the spacious dance floor.

His eyes darkened as he lowered his mouth to her ear. "I've been thinking of nothing else all evening."

"Nothing else?" she challenged.

"Not this evening.” As his arm settled around her waist, she drifted closer, hip brushing against him with practiced ease. Though perfectly appropriate for the dance floor, the touch was enough to elicit further explanation. “But I have thought of other matters throughout the rest of the day." The flirtatious edge in his tone left little doubt in her mind about what those other matters might be.

“I thought so,” she whispered, resting her head just beneath his shoulder. They danced in silence for several minutes, happy to forget the rest of the world as long as the music played.

“Perhaps we could pick this up later tonight?” Liam asked quietly when the song’s final chorus slipped away.

“Absolutely.”

He brought her fingers to his lips, sealing the promise before they parted ways once more.

#8 - sweater weather

Retracting her pen, Eliza closed the planner in her lap and switched off the overhead light. She gathered the stacks of papers scattered across the backseat, absentmindedly depositing them into the briefcase at her feet. As they pulled past the gates of the palace, she found her phone to send Liam a text:

Just got back. I'll be home in five minutes.

She unbuckled as soon as the car stopped, thrusting her arms through the sleeves of her jacket as she exited the car. With the drizzly chill that had settled over Cordonia in the past few days, the prospect of having her husband’s arms around her was almost enough to send her running to the royal apartments.

Eliza thoroughly enjoyed these school tours, her passion for education reform in Cordonia making even these late nights worthwhile. But after a week of seeing very little of her husband, she wasn’t going to let anything interfere with spending the rest of tonight with him.

The door opened for her before she’d even started searching for the key. Eliza stepped back just in time to avoid running into a curious snout that emerged from the crack.

“Hello, boy!” She knelt down to scratch the fuzzy face. Her smile widened as the rest of the corgi waddled through the entrance.

“Henry and I have been rather eager to have you home,” Liam told her from above.

“I’m very glad to be here.” She stood and met his lips for a quick kiss.

Stepping into their home, she caught a distinctive smell coming from the living room. She turned a questioning eye on her husband, the almost childish delight in his eyes rousing her suspicions. “Did you start a fire?”

“I thought you might be cold from traveling.”

"You thought right,” she confirmed, hanging her jacket in the entry closet.

“And I hoped you’d be in the mood for staying in tonight. After the week you’ve had, I thought it might be nice to just relax for a bit.”

As they rounded the corner, Eliza couldn’t help noticing the mountain of pillows and blankets piled on their couch. A pair of wine goblets were arranged on the coffee table, the light from the fireplace sparkling through the fine glass. “This is perfect, Liam. Just give me a few minutes to rinse off in the shower and --”

He stopped her with a gentle squeeze of the hand. “I ran a bath, actually.”

“You’d better be planning to join me.”

Liam’s lips tugged in amusement. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

#11 - toothpaste kisses

The bedroom was dark and still when the alarm sounded -- the yellow glow under the crack of the bathroom door providing a hint as to Liam’s whereabouts. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Eliza disabled her clock and forced herself into a seated position on the mattress edge.

This was going to be a long day. She hadn’t even been awake for a full minute, but she could already feel it in her bones.

With a sigh, she slid her feet to the floor, squinting as she knocked and entered the bathroom.

Liam attempted a good morning around his toothbrush, the meaning intelligible more from the pitch than the actual syllables produced.

“Morning,” she sighed in return.

His brows furrowed in concern, and he took a moment to survey her as the toothbrush paused its progress across his teeth.

"I’m fine," she promised. "Just dragging a little bit this morning." Eliza padded over to her side of the sink, gathering her hair into a loose ponytail. “And I think I’m just looking forward to today being over.”

As she waited for the water to warm, a fit of yawns came over her. By the end of them, she was even more bleary eyed than she’d been on waking up. Feeling sheepish, she glanced toward the other side of the glass.

One mirror-image eyebrow cocked before Liam leaned down to spit into the sink.

"It's not like you to struggle to wake up in the morning."

“Maybe it’s the weather or something. I don’t feel sick.”

He frowned at the suggestion and replaced his toothbrush. "Could I try something?” he asked, resting his hip against the counter while she finished rinsing her face.

“I’m not taking a freezing shower, if that’s what you’re suggesting. It’s fine if they work for Maxwell, but I’m not starting my day like that.”

“That wasn’t going to be my suggestion,” he laughed. “I was actually going to propose a kiss.”

Eliza grinned into her towel. She might have guessed that his solution would involve some kind of physical contact. “You kiss me every morning.”

He stepped toward her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Yes, but this morning it’s different. Don’t you know that toothpaste kisses have magical properties?”

“Minty-fresh properties, you mean?”

“Those too.”

She hooked both arms around his neck, bringing him down for a kiss. Her entire body tingled with pleasure as she pressed against the solid warmth of his chest. Lips still locked, she sighed again -- this time from contentment.

Liam stepped back, brushing aside a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. “How was that?”

“I feel much better,” she answered truthfully. “But I do have one question.”

His eyes widened in invitation.

“Can I have more of them tonight?”

#long post #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #the royal romance #trr #trr liam #liam x mc

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lovelysheepy · 6 years

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Eldritch Manors and Snow Globes

@spookyselfship Event Prompt Week 1 - Haunted Mansion

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Major Character Death, Blood, and Gore.

Word Count: Approximately 4000 words

The shattering of a snow globe turns all of Hat Manor into a terrifying death trap, and unfortunately someone has to deal with the whole affair.

I woke up as the plane hit land at last. My eyes blinked the grogginess away as I tried to reaffirm myself back to reality and everything I’d need to do to return to my usual routine. My mind and eyes glaze over as I pick up my carry-on bag and exit the plane from my first class seat hat Black Hat insisted on, and I hurried to collect my luggage at the baggage claim.

Of all the things I expected, it certainly wasn’t Dr. Flug. I rubbed my eyes sleepily as I figured I was seeing shit - the doctor hardly ever left his laboratory, much less Hat Manor. I watched him twitch and look around in a panicked manner. I glanced at the baggage carousel to see if my luggage was there as I walked my way towards Flug.

“Hey.” I called to him. “What are you-”

He exclaims my name and runs towards me - cutting me off, clearly filled with anxiety. “Where were you this entire time?” I blinked at him in confusion at his distress.

“Out of the country.” I answered, trying to remain calm for Flug’s sake. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to come back with me to the manor.” Flug insists, getting behind me and starting to push me forward.

“Hey!” I retort, using my heels to ground myself from moving. “Will you calm down?!”

“Calm down?! If you think I’m the one who needs calming, wait until you see your boyfriend!” Flug whispers to me, worried about making a scene. We caught a few stares, and I glared at everyone who did as some glanced away and some continued to stare.

“Well, I’ll go - but I need my fucking luggage first so can you keep a lid on it, paperbag?” I frown, obviously unhappy. As with most people, I did not enjoy being pushed around. I glance behind me, as Flug’s eyelids were half open in exasperation - clearly dissatisfied with my response. “Don’t give me that. I literally just got back after two weeks.”

“Fine.” Flug says, no longer trying to push me. Instead, he waits by the baggage carousel. I stand next to him, and he slips his hands into his pockets.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Dementia… broke something. The Boss flipped. I’ll tell you more when there aren’t so many people around.”

I nod at him in understanding. After a few minutes my luggage finally shows up on the carousel, and I quickly go to retrieve it. We made our way to the airport’s parking lot in silence. I was tired and it was obvious Flug had something else on his mind. I felt a bitter taste in my mouth, hoping that I would have received a better greeting - this was the first I’ve ever been away from Black Hat and his subordinates. When we finally got to the black van that is Flug’s vehicle, company logo present on the side, Flug opens the back two doors of the van.

“Here.” Flug says, offering to take my luggage. I hand it over to him, as I watch him toss it into the back rather carefully.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He nods at me. I notice he was a lot more relaxed than before as he closes the doors and then goes around to the driver’s side of the van. I make my way around to the passenger side, and hop in.

“Y’know…” I start, securing myself with the seat belt. “You’re more relaxed than when I first saw you.”

“It’s… nice. To have a…” He quiets, squinting through the windshield. “....a friend.”

“Mhmm.”

“...How come you didn’t answer your phone?”

“I didn’t have signal out of the country, my plan doesn’t have that kind of coverage. Actually-” I reach to pull out my phone from my pocket, as a turn it on. When the phone finally turns on completely, I see a rush of messages and phone calls followed by way too many phone vibrations than is necessary, and I cringe. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. It’s been. Pretty bad, to say the least.”

“Christ, Flug. What in the fresh hell happened?” I stare at him as he takes a deep breath, beginning to reverse and drive out of the parking lot. My eyes glance back over to my phone, looking at the texts and the phone calls. Half of the phone calls are from Black Hat, and the other half are from Flug. All of the texts were from Flug, with very few from my boyfriend. The texts don’t particularly explain the scenario, but there is clear desperation and some really dark images sent from Flug’s end that of which I couldn’t make out, and then texts from Black Hat that seemed relatively normal.

“I don’t remember where she got it, but Dementia came into my lab with some snow globe she was obsessed with. Something about how it was shiny. Anyway, Black Hat came stomping in a fit from his office and into the lab, and the snow globe broke since Dementia dropped it. And then just like that, he… the Boss… just snapped.” Flug fumbles with his words, clearly unsure of how to describe it. “The whole manor is a death trap now.” Flug sighs, becoming tense. I nod, staring at the pictures.

“Is that what the pictures you sent are of? The manor?”

“Yeah.”

I stared at them in silence, trying to find any signs. I vaguely remembered giving Black Hat a snow globe awhile back, who told me that he used it as a decoration for his office desk. If it was the same snow globe, I could understand why he’d be upset. If someone came around and stole my shit and broke a gift that my boyfriend gave to me - to say the least I would not be able to guarantee their safety. I decided not to tell Flug the snow globe was from me - as it didn’t matter either way and I thought it’d be nice to keep some of Black Hat’s dignity intact.

“So is the whole manor like this?”

“The whole manor. I haven’t been staying there since five days ago when it happened.”

“Five days? Where have you been staying, Flug?”

“Your apartment.” He admits, gulping a bit. I give him a look of disbelief. “W-Well there wasn’t exactly anywhere else and y-you told me I could always drop b-by and I knew you’d have a sp-spare key underneath the flower pot so I…” He trails off.

“No, no. It’s okay, Flug. I get it. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Christ, sorry about the mess.” I shook my head and waved my hands. “Sorry. I forgot to clean before I left.” I began to scratch the back of my neck, sighing that this ordeal happened to begin with.

“I hope you don’t mind if 5.0.5 cleaned up your apartment while you were gone. I told him he shouldn’t mess with your stuff but he couldn’t help himself when I passed out that night.” I laughed.

“5.0.5 is such a sweetheart.” I glance at the road ahead. “It’s fine. As long as I can find my stuff.”

“...You don’t take care of yourself that much either, do you?”

“...No.”

“A bit of a hypocrite, aren’t you?” He snorts, clearly making a reference to the fact that I always made an effort to pester him about his self-care.

“Yeah. I guess I am. I try, but - y’know, you’ve seen the state of my apartment.” I sigh. “I suffer from major depressive disorder, it’s hard to get out of bed some days.”

“...Oh. I’m sorry. Are you taking medication?”

“Yeah.” I nod, vaguely remembering the medication in my bag. “It only does so much, though. That’s just how it is.”

“Does the Boss know?”

“I think? I take it in the evening so every time I’ve stayed overnight at the manor I’ve had to bring it with me. He’s seen me take it, but he’s never asked what it was for.” I answer honestly, finger rising to my chin as I stare at the road ahead in thought.

“I think you should tell him.” Flug states, making a turn. “...Sorry I didn’t ask before at the airport, but uh. How was your trip?”

“Oh, that’s okay.” I reassure him. “Hearing your situation, I can understand why. But uh, my trip was fine. I visited family. One of my cousins was finally getting married and she went through all the trouble to invite me and I couldn’t help but want to go there. Not to mention the rest of my family were also going so it was a pretty big reunion I couldn’t bring myself to miss out on. I told Black Hat about it before I left, hoping something like this wouldn’t happen. I thought he’d mention it to you, but doesn’t seem like that was the case.”

Flug sighs. “What he tells me is always on a need-to-know basis. You know he doesn’t approve of our amicable relationship.”

“Well, I disapprove of his disapproval.” I say with a huff. “He can learn how to deal.” I couldn’t help but smile, when I finally heard Flug laugh.

“If I ever said anything like that, Boss would have my head. I don’t understand how you do it.”

I shake my head, smile growing on my face. “It’s cause I’m cute.”

“I can neither confirm or deny.” His smug tone is clear.

“Well, I didn’t ask you.” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. We both can’t help but laugh as we reach Hat Manor. I turn to stare out the window at the manor, which looks relatively as normal as ever. “Looks fine, Flug.” I notice Flug visibly swallow.

“It’s worse on the inside.” I nod at him as he turns to me, and I begin to undo my seat belt and get out of the van. I stand in front of the gates, expecting Black Hat to open up the doors and greet me like all the times he’s done before this. He doesn’t come out of the manor, so I squint - fully aware that something is very, very wrong.

“I’ll disable the security system.” Flug states, pulling a device out of his pocket. He presses a few buttons and keys. “There, now you should be able to safely get inside.”

“Are you not coming with me?” I ask him, concerned.

“Are you serious? If I go in there I’m sure I’ll die.” Flug retorts, pulling out a maglite from the back of the van and handing it to me. “You’ll need this.”

“Well, then why are you sending me in there?!”

“Because, I don’t think Black Hat will tear your head off.” I glare at Flug, who simply shrugs at me. I grab the maglite from him, and then I stare at the manor, squinting.

“Fine.” I grumble, as I open up the gates and walk my way into the manor. I turn back to Flug, who is watching me as I trek on. When I finally reach the doors to the manor, I’m disappointed that Black Hat had yet to greet me. I take a deep breath and open the doors - seeing an inky blackness inside. Even as the windows are obviously uncovered, there is no light in the foyer. I turn on the maglite in my hand, and step inside.

The moment I finally step inside, the door slams behind me. I turn back to jingle the handles of the entrance door, only to find that the door will no longer open and the handles are stuck. “Fuck.” I curse to myself, turning around to face the stairs.

The inside of the manor is pitch black, and completely silent. I step forward up the stairs quietly, hand touching the handrails of the entryway stairs, only to feel my hand become wet. I yelp in surprise, staring at my hand dripping with a black substance. I attempt to shake it off, unhappy with the mess. I continue to step up the stairs which creak with it’s age. It felt like walking through a haunted mansion, but this was very real.

I flashed the maglite around to the painting of Black Hat that had adorned the center of the manor’s entryway, staring at the distorted form before me. It looked as if something was pulsating over the painting of Black Hat of a nature and origin that I could not place. I regretted taking a sharp intake of breath as I tried to calm my nerves.

“Ugh.” I reel, a corpse-like stench emitting from the substance. I continue on to move away from the substance as quickly as possible, attempting to find the other stairway towards Flug’s lab. I was not sure where Black Hat would be - but if Flug’s story had been correct then that would be the first place to start searching. I wondered where Dementia was - if she was even alive at this point if this is how Black Hat lashed out.

It was further up the stairs where I found what looked to be Dementia’s body. I gasped, running over towards her. I flashed the maglite towards the walls and ceiling, which was covered in sticky and dry blood. “Oh, god.” I murmured, leaning down to touch her shoulder. She was cold. I bit my lip, and tried to turn her over with my foot. I held back a scream, seeing her torso completely mutilated - a gaping hole from her chest where her heart should have been. Dementia’s eyes were empty, her brain clearly visible in the back from where the eyes were no longer. I flinched away from her body, hand covering my mouth.

I felt goosebumps go through my spine, and began to feel a cold sweat on my brow as I stared at her lifeless form. Black Hat really had done this. All of this. My hands began to tremble, full of fear. Unable to look at her body anymore, I closed my eyes - trying to hold back tears. I always had known Dementia did not like me that much, or so I thought. I knew she had always resented me slightly, because of Black Hat’s favoritism - she pined for him so much. However, I had never felt ill-will towards her, and I knew that I would never wished for her end to be like this. It was just a gift - a fucking snow globe. I could’ve made a new snow globe, as many as it took.

I could not hold back a sniffle from escaping, as I tried to move forward away from her body. My mind drifted from Dementia to Black Hat, and I wondered why he had to go this far. I bit my lip, anger beginning to rise in my throat. It was so unnecessary. My anger was so overwhelming, I sniffled again - tears beginning to well up in the corners of my eyes.

My attention had switched from the grim thoughts of Dementia’s corpse, when I began to hear the sounds of shifting behind the hall which I walked from. I turned my head, glancing at the form of a black creature, moving in the manner of a biped on two spindly legs. It had two spindly arms, sharp and ended in a point similar to that of icicles. I took a deep breath, watching the creature in shock - the smell of corpses once again hitting my nose. I had to run. I had to get out of here. I had to find Black Hat.

I began to run forward in a sprint, making my way towards the lab. I turned back to watch as the creature got down on all fours to make chase after me. I would have screamed for help, if I wasn’t worried about attracted attention to any creature similar, and if I wasn’t worried about wasting my breath that I needed in my run. I could feel the creature gaining on me, speed being an advantage of a four-legged creature over a bipedal one. I turned the corner and laid eyes on the open door of Flug’s lab. I rushed towards it, entering the lab door as I began to fumble in a panic to close the sliding metal doors with the console.

“Hurry up, hurry up…” I said, watching the doors closing too slow as the creature began to pick up in speed to make it to the doors. Scared for my life, I began to feel my life flash before my eyes. At least I had gotten to say goodbye to my family at the reunion. I watched as the creature began to leap towards me through the small crack in the door, awaiting my demise. I flinched and closed my eyes - however pain nor death came. I opened an eye only to see the doors closed, and my life well intact. I began to cry, coming down from the adrenaline high. I took a deep breath after a few minutes, as I tried to collect myself.

I turned around to face the lab, eyes still stinging from the tears. I see a form besides the remains of a broken snow globe. The creature was similar to the one that had chased me before, but the shape was more human-like. I blinked, staring at the top hat-like mass on the head of the creature. My eyes glanced to the broken snow globe, and seeing the ground covered in red glitter - I had identified that this was in fact, the snow globe that I gave to him. I bit my lip, and approached the figure.

“Black Hat?” I called out to it. The creature turned to me.

"̵̢̕͢͝Y̸'̷̧͡ ̕͜͠͏ą͘h̕͠ ̵̨͘͠l̴̶͘҉̢'͜͢͢͝ ́s͞o͘͢͡͡͠r̷̵ŕ̴͏y̴͢͢,̛́͡ ̵̶̢y̴̢͟a̷̡͢ ̡͢ḑ̢̢͡e͏̷a҉̵̨̨r͢҉̷́́.̴̴̷̢͝"̨́͜͠

The creature speaks, but it comes out garbled. I squint, trying to make sense of what it says - but only barely. The language sounds very different from what I was familiar with, but I could make out the word “sorry” and “dear”. The message seemed clear enough.

“It’s okay.” I tell the creature, walking forward to touch it’s shoulder. It doesn’t flinch away from me when my hand makes contact, but it feels wet, and I can’t help but be uncomfortable. It takes a lot to keep my hand from retracting, but I let it stay. “What happened to you, Black Hat?”

"̴̧̧̛̀C̛͜a̛h̡́͢͡f̵̵̨͞ ́̕͜ǫ̛́t͘͡ ̧̀h͢͝͡h͘͞'͘͟͝ ́͘̕͘a̴̢͜͏h͟ ̵͟͢g̴i͜͡͠f͜͝t̸̶̸͘ ̸̧͟͝h̶͘͟͝u̷̡͢p҉͡ ̧͟͞y͡a̡̡̛ ͏҉̷͏̢o̷͏͏͏r͜͢͡ŗ́̕'͏̛͝͏͝ę̸͜ ҉̨̧u̵̕͡a͢͏̀a͘͢à̶̀͘͟h̵͢͢͝g͏̀͝o̡͢͟f̡̢͟'̶͏̵͟ń̶̢͞ ̷̨̀́̕a̷̷͞͝h̵͡͞ ̢͢s͡h̷͝͞͏̛a̶̢̨͢t̸͟҉t̸̶͟e̵̷̡͢ŗ͞͡͡ę̴́d̛͘ ͏҉̛͟l̸͜͡ļ͠͏̵͝l̷͏͡l͏͟͞ ̷͠҉͏͝á̕͡͏z̡̕a̸̡̢n̛͘a̡͞h̴͏́͟ó̡̨̧t̕͟҉̷̨h̵̵̸́͠.̛̕͜͝"̶̡͝

“I-” I stutter, trying to make sense of what is being said. It is definitely in a different language. I gulp. “I don’t understand what you are saying, I’m sorry.”

The creature stands up, and turns to me. I stare up at the creature, amazed by the two foot difference in height. While Black Hat often dwarfed me, I have never felt so small. I blinked in awe. The creature’s human-like hand takes mine.

"̛́̀͢͞L̢͜ĺ̷̡̀͟l̛͏̵̸̕l̢̡͢ ̶́̕͟͞n͟҉o̶͢͠͝g͘ ́́͘͠͠ý̴̨̧́a̧̢͠͠͝.̀͘͢͟͡"̧͟͜͢͠

I squint, still unable to understand as the creature attempts to drag me off towards the door. I gasp as I almost trip to keep up, the grip on my hand certain and insistent. I frown but try to keep up with the creature, assuming that it’s trying to get me to follow. The double doors open, as the creature leads me through the darkness. I shine my maglite in front of me, but the creature smacks it away.

“Hey!” I yell in surprise, and the creature growls. I stare into the darkness, completely unable to see. I sigh. “I can’t see anymore.”

"̡͜T̶͢͏̴ŕ͜͟ú́s̶̀͘͢͝t̵͡҉ ͞҉y̢̢͟͡a͏̵.̵̶̸͢"̴̡̢͝͝

I make out the word “trust”, and I simply sigh as I’m led away through the darkness in silence. After walking for awhile and hearing shuffling in the distance, I finally hear the sound of a door opening as a green light flickers from the room. I feel a hand on my back, as I assume the creature that was leading me beckons for me to step inside. I step inside, seeing a creature of unspeakable horror sit in front of the fireplace - tendrils and multiple appendages reach out to me, and touch my face and the rest of my body.

I stare in horror, and see it - the top hat. Was this Black Hat? I feel myself being tugged forward by the tendrils, and I stop by digging my heels into the ground. It only tugs harder, as I am swept off of my feet and absorbed into the Black Mass. I gasp, feeling like a dark tar begins to enter through my mouth and nostrils, the sensation burning and incredibly painful. I felt like I was going to drown, and then suddenly I felt nothing. However, I was clearly alive. The tar felt like air, and in the dark expanse I saw my boyfriend - his form monstrous and disheveled. The tendrils from the previous monstrosity led me to him, as tendrils that came from him and wrapped around me - as if the tendrils were passing me on. Once I was close enough, his arms wrapped around my form, and he buried his face into my neck. I sighed, wrapping my arms around him.

“I’m back, Black Hat.” I say, hoping for a response I could understand.

"̧Wel̕c͏o͠m̛è ́back." He says, voice and language discernible and understandable. I sigh, relieved to know what he was saying but unhappy with the lack of information regarding the manor’s current state.

“Thank you. ...Are you going to explain?” I sigh, and Black Hat grumbles.

“̴T͝he ̵ĺi͏z͏ar͘d̴ ̶br̴oke̸ ͜m̡y ̧g̀if͠t ̨f̀r͡o͠m̵ y̴o͞u. ̨S̢o ͏I ende̴d͞ ̸h͢er͜ l̢i҉fe.” I blinked a few times - in shock that my hypothesis was actually true. I didn’t know why I expected anything different, however.

“...I see.” I say, staring at the darkness behind him. It felt as if we were floating in water, my hair rising up on it’s own.

“̡..̸.͞Ar̸ȩ ̴yo̕u̷ ̢n̵ot̢ ̀angr̵y̡?͜”

“No?”

“́Y͜ou s͝h̸ould͝ ͜b̷e.”͞ He hisses.

“Why? It’s just a snow globe.”

“N͢o,̨ my ͘dea͠r. I͘t w̸a҉s҉ no͞t j̴us̛t a̵ ͟s̷n͜ow globe̶. It w͞a̢s͞ ͜yơur͡ s̡n̴ǫw̶ gl͞obȩ.̶”

“I can make more snow globes, Black Hat.”

“Y͜ou͝ ͡dón̶’͏t͞ ̴gȩt it̀.”͝ He growls. I could feel the tendrils tighten around my form.

“No - you know what? Okay. No, I definitely get it. I get where you’re coming from, because if someone decided to try and steal a gift that was from you and then go as far as to break it, I would be pretty mad, too. But I would not go as far as to kill someone over it - because you’re still here. As long as no one has hurt you, then everything will be okay.” I sigh, my hold on Black Hat tightening. He doesn’t respond.

“I will always have more gifts for you, so you don’t have to fret over the snow globe, okay? I know you treasured it, you even put it on your office desk and it was… really wonderful of you to do that. It made me feel special. But you didn’t have to kill Dementia for it - she didn’t deserve that.”

“͟You̶ ̴don’t knoẃ ̡w͜hat̷ sh̷e ͏desȩr͢v̵e͞d̨.́” He huffs.

“She didn’t deserve death, that’s for sure.” I retort with a bit of sass in my tone. “I don’t think she meant to break it, I think she just found it really nice to look at.”

“͠Well, ͞s̶h͡e͠ sh̶óul̕d͞ h̷av̛è ke̡pt h͜e҉r͢ sc̵a̧l̛y h̶a͏n̢ds̀ off͠ ́of it͏ ̸and͘ j͡ust l͠ooked̵ ̴a̧t ̛it͠.̡”̛

“Black Hat.” I sternly reply. He sighs.

“̀.͡..̶I d̡i̷d̶n’t kil͜l͜ ̡her̀. A҉l͢ļ ̷I ̀did ͟ẃa̛s ̷rip͡ h̵e͝r ̴śoul͏ out̕ of́ ̶her b͏o̴dy͏ a͝nd̷ mau̴led the ͟bod̷y.̸ ҉T͟h͝i҉s ҉is̀n͝’t͜ ̶the f̨ir̶st ͡t̨ime͏.́”̴

“Seriously?”

“Y̧es.̛ ̵I͜ ̨w̷i͜ll͘ ̡have F̷lu̸ģ ͜m҉ak̢e h͜e̢r a̢ n̶ȩw ̴b̶o͝d̴ý. I ̛was ͘t͘èac͟hing ͏t͢h̸e̢ ͏rưn̕t̵ a lesson͜.͞ ̛Sh̴e ͝was ͡j̨ust͝ a̕ ͝m̢utáted l͢iz͘a͘r͟d̵ ͞anywa͝y͝.”̧

“Then why have you been like this for five days?”

Silence.

“Black Hat.”

“I̸ ̴d̨i͡d n̶o̴t w͘a̸n̵t̡ to̢ ̛s̕e̡e̵ ͘any͟o̧n͢e’s f͘ac̕e ͟in t̕his ma͞nor un̴lés͘s it was̢ ͜yo͘urs.͟”͏

“Ah.” I respond, nodding to his honesty. “Fair. ...Will you turn back, at least?”

“In͝ a f͞e͠w hòu͞ŕs. A̕l̡śo͜, neve̛r̵ l̶ea͟v͜e ͝m͟e ̕a̛ga͠in.͜ S̛ta͘y͞ įn ͘th̶e͜ ͟ma̷no̷r ͢for̢ a ̷f̨eẃ d̸a̵y͟s͞.”͡ I can’t help but let out a laugh at his request.

“Okay. But I can’t just skirt family gatherings. So you’ll have to come with me next time. Can we make a deal?”

“̡..͏.F͠i̛ne.” He grumbles, dissatisfied but satisfied enough to agree.

“Alright. I also need to unpack my luggage at my apartment, but then I’ll pack some stuff so I can stay here for a few days.” He hums in response, and it was my notion of knowing it was fine.

As promised a few hours later, Black Hat eventually returned to normal. I was quick to send Flug a selfie of Black Hat and I - feeling warmed by the thumbs up in response.

Everything was going to be fine, I thought, cuddled up to Black Hat whose tendrils wrapped around me and my form, gently petting my hair and his hands firmly pressed against my waist.

Everything.

#spookysse18 #self ship #self shipping #villainous #fanfic #gore #blood #black hat #dr flug slys #dementia (villainous)

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spoke-nword · 6 years

Text

‘Full’ Wales in a Day

As a cyclist, Wales holds a sense of untouched ‘mystery’ that I’ve rarely felt in other areas of the country. It’s not that it’s a far-flung oasis, or a wildly foreign land - far from it in fact; I live approximately 20 miles from the Welsh border in Shropshire, and some of my family are from or live there.

For me, it’s the quiet emptiness, a sense of untouched country, that I feel when I’m cycling through lanes empty apart from branches and leaves, farm gates and occasional carrion.

On the 16th of July I set out on one of my longest rides of the year, to get the full experience of ‘Wales in a Day’.

The start, South Stack Lighthouse, was chosen purely as it was the furthest North-westerly point in Wales, with a finish set in the grounds of Chepstow Castle; one of the most South-easterly points I could find with decent links back to Shropshire.

Part 1 - 7am - South Stack Lighthouse

My parents had given me a lift to the start, and were picking me up from Chepstow at the finish. The car had been packed late the night before, and we’d set off at 4am to get to South Stack as early as possible. In my rush to pack the car, I’d forgot one thing - my small mini-pump. My 28mm Continental tyres are too big to drop out of the frame without uninflating them by half, so when I placed the wheel back into the frame after arriving at the start and reached for my non-existent pump, I was a bit concerned.

It was OK however; I’d brought a Co2 inflater and 3 cartridges to use. So, I screwed a cartridge into the spring-loaded inflator and in turn the inflator onto the tyre and.. nothing. The valve in the inflator wouldn’t open. I tried with all the force my puny fingers would muster, but still nothing. Fuck. We’ve driven 165 miles to the start and I can’t inflate my fucking tyre. I took the inflator off, unscrewed the canister slightly and lost all air out of it. One canister down, two left. I did the only thing I could do to try and rectify the situation; I literally took a big rock and smashed it again the side of the inflater. It budged, slightly, so I hit it again. This time, whatever force was holding the valve closed abated and I could rotate the head and open the valve! Canister in, onto the tyre valve and thankfully a fully inflated tyre! Right, I’m only 35 minutes late, time to get a move on.

I left South Stack and headed for the first milestone, the Menai Bridge. Within 5 miles the drizzle that had accompanied our drive to the start turned into rain, and I had to unpack my waterproof. I really don’t mind cycling in the rain - it’s not pleasant, but once you get going and your body warms I find I forget about it. This was definitely the case approaching Menai Bridge, with fantastic scenery and the backdrop of the bridge across The Swellies. I stopped for a quick obligatory photo and pushed on towards Beddgelert, my first planned food stop of the day.

The road to Beddgelert started to undulate, with the approach to Llyn Cwellyn on some of the smoothest and flowing roads in North Wales a highlight. It was at this time I started to see the peak of Snowdon through the dissipating cloud cover.

The descent into Beddgelert was awesome, and I met a few other cyclists out on a morning run into town for coffee. From the look on their faces when I told them of my plan, they thought I was mad, but could still appreciate the desire to see Wales in its entirety.

Parting ways just after Beddgelert, I picked my way via a series of B roads towards Harlech on the coast. Passing Fford Pen Llech and not turning left to tackle the 35-40% grade brute drove a pang of guilt inside, but I resisted and instead focused on the bigger picture. It may have been small, but with many mountains to come and only around 50 miles in the legs, I needed to stay as fresh as possible.

On my way to Barmouth I stopped at my Grandads house near Tal-y-bont. It was a great place for my second break, and a decent cup of coffee and a jam filled bagel sorted me out for the next stretch to Machynlleth. It was also a great opportunity to lose the arm and knee warmers, as the temperature had risen nicely, with no rain or clouds around.

The descent into Barmouth was fantastic, and arriving into the town during a water festival was even better. I pushed on through the town, and chose to ride over Barmouth Bridge to the other side of the estuary. The wooden slats of the bridge made the ride akin to riding over cobbles; I’m glad I run 28mm tyres on the bike at this point!

Leaving the bridge and turning right, I start a very pleasant ascent of the coastal road that heads toward Aberdyfi. The gradient is very steady, never rising above 6 or so %, and despite a slight headwind, the weather affords a great view back to Barmouth and the bridge.

I continue upwards and around the coast for a few miles before a steady descent past a cafe serving ice cream, and have my first low point of the day. With a combination of only covering 80 miles so far, and another 130 or so to go, I felt more than a bit behind schedule. Also, out of Machynlleth I knew the climbing would become serious, and progress slow even more. Still, moaning about it gets you nowhere so I pushed on.

Aberdyfi in the sunshine is beautiful. Seriously. I arrived there just after midday and I could have been in the Bahamas. The sea was crystal clear, blue and it was warm! My mood lifted somewhat, I stopped to take a picture on the way out of town, and pressed on Eastward.

Approaching Mach, I decided to make it my first main stop of the day and have some lunch. Mountains and steep climbs ahead, I fuelled up on another bagel and an energy bar, and took 10 minutes to rest. Whilst difficult, this was the part I was most looking forward to; mountains and climbing.

Part 2 - 14:00 - Machynlleth Mountain Road

I set off from Mach, and headed straight onto the mountain road signposted Dylife. The climb started quickly, and I was soon settled into a comfortable power I knew I could sustain. Slowly lanes gave way to more open areas of the mountainside, and with the sun shining brightly, made for a very warm climb. Approaching what I thought was the summit, the climb grows fairly steep; my Garmin’s elevation profile had been playing up a bit so when I rounded a corner and realised I was nowhere near the top, I wasn’t surprised. What did surprise me however, was how steep the climb was getting. I’m sure when I planned the route I looked at this climb and thought it would be fairly steady; I was wrong!

I pushed on, slightly over-power and overheating, trying to concentrate on my breathing and the magnificent view that was opening out in every direction. Heading over the top and on to Staylittle, I slowed right down and appreciated my surroundings; once again, Wales had delivered. The reservoirs at Staylittle are magnificent!

I stopped at a layby, and spoke to a couple of chaps riding motorbikes; I overheard one talking about my bike and saying something along the lines of “but with those tyres and a light bike cycling is pretty easy”. I laughed and couldn’t help myself, and so struck up a conversation about where they were going. Turns out they had just ridden their bikes down from Bangor, and were too heading for Chepstow. When I told them I was doing the same, but had cycled from South Stack, they were very confused. A non-cyclists view of long-distance cycling always makes me laugh; some don’t understand how, or what 125, 150 or 200 miles means to us, but most just look confused as to why we would do it. “Because I can” is usually my answer.

After Staylittle, the mountain road doesn’t really ease that much; the lumps and bumps continue, some fairly steep and a bit of a grind running a 28t cassette. Still, the surface was great, and the going fairly quick most of the way to Llanidloes, and further to Rhayader.

I stopped once more at Rhayader for food and a coffee, and found myself in the middle of a local 'treasure hunt’ style event. I have no idea what they were looking for, but they all seemed very interested in a notice board next to a disabled toilet, with many people pulling their cars up to the board, making notes and then driving off. Weirdos.

Fed and refuelled, I set off from Rhayader for the next part of the journey. I knew it would be pretty flat from Rhayader to Talgarth, as to save some time I’d routed along a couple of main roads in favour of an even longer trip. At this point I was glad of the clip on aero bars for another position!

Part 3 - 17:30 - A Time-trial of Sorts

I left Rhayader and directly turned South for Builth Wells on the A470. I wanted to try and make up a bit of time as I’d been a bit lazy so far, and had more quick breaks than I would have liked. It’s not that I was precious about time (other than the lift back from Chepstow), but I was worried about my legs starting to feel heavy if I rested too much. Dead legs = not much fun considering the climbs of Hay Bluff and beyond.

Despite the time, the road was fairly quiet of traffic and a great surface - I tucked in on the aero bars and managed to maintain a decent power and speed, arriving into Builth Wells quickly. I think I managed the 13 miles between the two towns in around 35 minutes, which I didn’t think was too bad of a pace after 155 miles in the legs!

There’s a lot to be said about using comfortable aero bars in this kind of long-distance discipline. I’d seen plenty of pictures and read accounts of other long distance cyclists using them to great effect in events (just take a look at the riders competing in the TCR for the number using aero bars!), but didn’t appreciate the comfort of having another position for long days in the saddle.

The road out of Builth Wells again started to get a bit lumpy, but fairly fast flowing. I chose to use the B-road that runs along side the A470 to keep the route as quiet as possible - I’m glad I did, as the scenery was once again amazing. The albeit smaller valleys, and plenty of them, carved by the many rivers and streams made for an awesome backdrop to the fading afternoon light.

On the way into Talgarth, I was greeted with a very familiar view; Hay Bluff.

Having recently completed an Everesting on the Northern (main) road up the Gospel Pass, I knew this area well. I’d spent nearly 20 hours climbing and descending the pass in June, over what was to be the hottest day of the year, and actually loved every minute of it. The prospect of climbing up Hay Bluff from the Talgarth side was energising, despite the fatigue building in my legs.

Turning South out of Talgarth onto the A479, the climb starts immediately. At a very pleasant average gradient of around 4%, this turned out to be one of my favourite climbs of the day. I’m not averse to steeper climbs, but the A479 climb let me measure my effort comfortably, and leave plenty in the tank towards the top to push on. It was cool seeing Hay Bluff from the West side too - the A479 climb winds it’s way through the ‘cut’ in the bluff before dropping down the other side towards Crickhowell, again with magnificent views of the Brecons off to the right and straight ahead.

On the descent, I started to notice the drop in temperature for the first time, and so pulled over to throw on my knee warmers and arm warmers. It was around 8:30pm and I’d been blessed with most of the day being warm, so couldn’t complain.

Part 4 - 8:30pm - The Home Stretch

Descending out of the Brecons towards Crickhowell, I was again able to make some time up on the fast-flowing A roads. It was at this point, after around 175 miles, I realised I’d made my first route error. I’d planned on dropping South below Crickhowell, using the quieter A4077 to get to Abergavenny, and then again using a quiet B-road out of Aber towards Usk. What actually happened, is my Garmin decided to take me on part of the incredibly busy A40 dual-carriageway for a mile or so. It wouldn’t have been a problem usually, but given it was around the time that many people were travelling back from South Wales to the rest of the country made it incredibly busy, not helped by my fatigue.

I quickly pulled over, re-routed the Garmin somehow (those that use Garmins know how fucking difficult this is!), and managed to find my way back to the road I had intended to be on in the first place. Not a disaster by any means, but still unwelcome after a day in the saddle and a place to be.

I took a quick break in Abergavenny, and used some of the time to check the route of the final 20 miles or so to Chepstow. Happy I’d not cocked up again, I pushed out of Aber on the B-road to Usk. It was dark, the road quiet and surprisingly the temperature started to climb again. Feeling refreshed after my stop in Aber I really enjoyed this section. I’d pretty much ran out of food, but didn’t feel too bad, so knew barring disaster this ride was in the bag.

Out of Usk, I hit what was to be the last climb of the day; the climb from Llangwm to Gaer-Fawr. It was only after cycling up and over this fairly brutish climb, I realised it had been used in the Ras de Cymru in 2014, and I can see why. Whilst not overly long, the climb has some steeper pitches that made it ‘interesting’ after just clocking 200 miles, and not much fuel in my body! At 4.5 miles and around 800ft elevation gain, at any other time I would have enjoyed it. But at that moment, I just wanted it done with. Reaching the top, I felt some relief that it was over and I just had the descent to Chepstow to go.

Rolling down the long descent into Chepstow, I reflected on the day’s ride; it had been a great day weather-wise, apart from one mishap, a decent route with a nice mix of quiet B-roads and faster A-roads, but above all, Wales hadn’t disappointed in the scenery. North Wales with it’s large mountains, Mid Wales and the steep valleys and many reservoirs, and finally South Wales and the pleasant steady-grade climbs that allow you to take in your surroundings whilst keeping a decent pace.

I’d thoroughly recommend the route to anyone looking to experience a sample of what Wales has to offer; the ride wasn’t overly taxing, but enough of a challenge to make some of the tougher parts worthwhile.

Finally, arriving into Chepstow, I met up with my parents and attempted to get a picture of the castle. It was dark, I was getting cold, my first picture was very blurry and so I couldn’t be bothered to take another. So I took a picture of a signpost and that had to do.

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passitonandon · 7 years

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The Reflection is TRUST your words from the past to guide the future & because I don’t have to look back and reread, just see if it connects & then respond, life just got a little easier. Decision-making is the hardest thing since there CAN be a consequence & what individuals THINK about emotion can harm others so they pretend...they contort...they try and control...the effect is more than devastating since if they do not learn, history will repeat itself

This is why S/Vs cannot feel “safe” knowing an individual will do & REDO unless something is done. This is the only catalyst that has motivated me in the darkest moments : to recall, what if it happens to someone else and how unacceptable it is...

The Future

Make it clear what you stand for

Functional living includes love

Already broke this down & now it’s not private (TY NYC)

TY shame (an emotion that never seemed to be helpful except to describe some as SHAMELESS

The Present

whatever it is that connects you to the worst--those special times--it can be better!

NYC & travel & when you find that perfect something that makes you recall the trip, garder un bon souvenir de quelque chose (to have happy memories of something) : what was IT?

and the motherfucking KICK

The Past

A Private Thought

Think of how many people live in this area of NYC. Now think of the number of people in a state, a whole nation, a continent. Zoom Out and consider every person who occupies a place in this world, and now the thought spins wildly out of control. When sitting at an airport imagining all the different places connected when two people share a space, this crowded labyrinth with a countdown to locate your gate/way out. A portal to a new world & maybe a new life.

Zoom in. Shared this space with someone before and neither noticed, staring into screens, trying to zone out, not wanting to appear the slightest bit interested in anything or anyone around you. There is value in taking the time to reflect so when you do act, you’ve already considered the precautions, those necessary steps to ensure you don’t hurt anyone.

[The process was is working]

Zoom out. Let’s celebrate a new way to think & live. We already know so much about what makes us the same--we share the same hopes & fears for our loved ones--To be safe & provided for--We want death to come painlessly--Joyful memories about family, good health & stability, wealth & comfort especially in elder years, treat our parents with good cheer, they took care of us, how can their later lives not be discussed? To live a full & natural life. Asked & answered, take pain/strife, learn from it, we’re all one composite of a whole bunch of shit.

Now, onto more interesting matters. What makes us different & how do these differences allow us to understand survival better? How does persevering through adversity make them more resilient to future trauma? Can a parent be held responsible for the adults they create? If they grow up and hurt others, and now onto the nature vs nurture debate? I didn’t create it, but it’s part of my life, as a previous Teacher who dreamt education day & night.

[Keep it out there, dampening fears, ballooning cares]

Kids with social/ emotional/ physical/ cognitive disabilities require a SPECIAL kind of playing field that must be leveled with grown-up ingenuity & a desire to jump in, just be real with themselves. A broken record, topic: mental health. Since there are REAL consequences, I don’t believe in deflections, answer the fucking question. Why isn’t there a closer inspection & higher standard placed on addressing the emotional safety of students when mental health concerns are steadily rising on college campuses?

I believe that we must all embrace the importance of difference. Growing up with individuals not like you gives you a wider world perspective that should be cultivated & cared for. We can learn from those who must adapt to a world that will never fully accommodate them, but perhaps that’s the point. There will always be people with access & those without. Just be sure you’re on the side who gets in, right? If you ignore those lowest in society, don’t you think they’ll retaliate, their feeling of being unclean not a thing that disappears magically.

I’d like to elevate those handling hardships despite cognitive, physical or emotional difficulties & if we advance their perogative to thrive and live independently, we start to change the way society thinks & then maybe those who feel very different might start accepting they have talents & a purpose to live and it’s our job to make sure our weakest & most vulnerable--elderly, children, individuals living with functional inconsistencies, mental inflexibility, living with ptsDONE--are protected, cared for.

[My ideas succinct/concise, editing day & night]

There’s a way to teach emotion using creativity & love, science & story. To limit, deny or remove anyone’s ability to express oneself verbally, through written expression or sign language is abUSE. When writing with a purpose, trying to connect an idea & feeling with imagery so that it truly is the most perfect word. In that moment expressing everything in a tight little package. Make it work for everyone or just admit, we’ve not begun.

If we all use common sense & apply the golden rule to every scenario, slowing down to ensure you think before you act is a preventative tool that builds self-control, this being my biggest interests, having had children & adults who can’t exhibit this, cause real harms, it’s the image they cling to, never sounds the alarm, never know when to disarm. I believe we can make the world safer for everyone by increasing our body awareness & ability to use thoughts to control feelings, but we must know which thoughts will be comforting. Which will excite. I want everyone to be comfortable being who they are. Can we start shaming people who aren’t able to back up their ideas, lie, cheat & steal and who take more than they give? I’m not suggesting rudeness if someone does not share the same viewpoint, just clear communication when someone does something “shameful” and then hold them accountable so they learn since we must all do our part--yup, a Teacher with one of those obnoxious hearts--always going to believe everyone has a social smarts.

Speak with civility

Choose your words carefully

Practice active listening

Stop talking over each other

Choose the right battles

Use knowledge & basic research guidelines to shape your argument & maybe even find something new about the true you

Stumbling across new info can make the world change instantly, stop wanting everything so quickly & enjoy it, hmmm, sensually

The Goal: End Trauma with Love of our minds & bodies.

How: To help children at any age self-love & self-regulate so they become adults who have self-love & can self-regulate. To help adults who have felt lost & alone to submerge in their childhood, find their genuine loves & restructure their lives.

Why: From the smallest seed, a magnificent system can grow.

The Prompting Event:

Queens Museum, Queens, NY

Sunday afternoons & story telling!

The Love: Once children & adults can self-Love experiencing real Love from another (person, animal, activity, a Passion!) is soooo satisfying & I was lucky to find it (and lose it) after genuine heartbreak. I planted seeds long ago & now I get to see what’s popping up! Love will change you for the better. It must, since it’s the enemy of trauma, the only POWer is this world that can snuff out tragedy this being “life” but what also people fling at you, (think: poo)

I want to spread seeds of Love, Ardor & Passion. When you’ve reached supersaturated capacity, and you are grateful for every second, don’t forgot the feeling, get creative & kind and pass it on. Don’t be greedy with these seeds, it’s what everyone wants & what everyone needs.

In Summation, the moment some thoughts must get or be put OUT .

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unholyhelbiglinked · 7 years

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Laser Tag|Hartbig

The room was thick with the smell of latex and burnt popcorn, making my stomach churn with each passing second. Neon was flashing in my peripheral vision, burning my eyes even if I kept them clenched shut- which believe me, I was doing. My headache was raging, the overindulgence of funnel cake and corn dogs catching up to me.

"Grace, move your feet, huh?" Mamrie's cold hand rested on the nave of my back as she shoved me forward. I grumbled, my feet practically dragging against the wooden floor. "It's not like you're on death row."

"might as well be," I quipped back, a slight bite in my tone "You know, I agreed to come to the fair with you, but you didn't say anything about laser tag."

Mamrie let out her signature loud laugh, wrapping her long arm around my mid-section to get a better grip on me. I tried to squirm out of her grasp as the line moved forward. I would normally be all up for it- but I knew Mamrie, despite being my best friend in the world, the girl would take off the minute the lights dimmed and the neon green and red lines darted from every area.

It would only last about fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes in the dark with people shooting at me... didn't seem too bad- but with the kids in my town, I knew it'd turn into a brawl the first ten minutes, and the place would need to be evacuated in the last five.

"You'll be fine, Helbig. Stop being such a diva, just get your anger out in there. Who are you mad at right at this moment"

I narrowed my eyes at her "It's frowned upon to shoot your own team mates."

Mamrie let out a long sigh as she pushed me past a large metal gate, my hips hitting a turn style. A man that looked too old to be working at a carnival cut the line off as soon as we walked into the other pitch room- this time, there were purple backlights that illuminated the small space, making my teeth become beacons each time I dared mention something to Mamrie. The whites of my friends eyes disappeared every few seconds as she blinked.

We were huddled with about ten other people- being quickly instructed to break into teams of six. Mamrie smirked, dethatching my hand from her forearm. "Mamrie Lillian Hart, I swear to god-"

"Work the aggression out, Gracie." She chuckled as she fell into the group of 5 that hi fived her immediately as I turned around to face the rest of the red team. A few of them shot smiles my way- while one guy handed me a vest with a small nod.

"Don't worry, we'll absolutely dominate." He cocked his gun dramatically, sending both of us into a small fit of giggles as I fastened the Velcro around my waist, tugging on the side as I made sure the vest was secure. He passed me a gun, sticking close by my side as we all started filing into the room. His heat was welcoming against the cold environment.

We were lead up a long corridor, the other team separating from us as we clanked up a long ramp that ended with a platform, and a red flag- glowing in a sharp neon. I swallowed, getting the feeling that this flag was way too important to some of the people in this group, including the guy who had been so helpful earlier; he started forming a plan quickly.

"We have to get the blue flag, but we also have to protect our own. I say three of us try to take out the other team members while three of us guard this place. Tyler and I will rush at them, but we need one more."

"I have asthma." A girl with dyed red hair responded quickly, earning a nod from the brown haired boy as he moved his chin towards the base of the flag.

"I don't like running," a dark haired boy said, "its hell on the knees, so I'll stay with red velvet over there if you don't mind."

I had a feeling that this was like being picked for dodge ball. The boy next to me seemed pretty confident in himself, he was taller than me- but sported a blazing white t-shirt which couldn't be good for him. The two boys surveyed up. "What do you think, Conner?"

"I like Blondie," He sent me a smile "She's got revenge in her eyes."

"You heard her man," Tyler shrugged, not getting much of a response from the kid beside me as he went to stand with red velvet and the kid who obviously didn't want to be here in the first place. They started to walk back down the ramp, letting me trail behind as I cocked the gun.

There was smoke covering the ground floor, random wooden structures there for hiding from the other team. A large television set stood in the eye of the place- numbers of each player stood on the screen- there was a space for tally marks- we each could get hit ten times before our guns would be disabled, and we would have to return to the base flag.

There was a slight beeping as the timer to count down the beginning of the game began to sound off, Conner grasped my elbow and pulled me behind one of the structures, Tyler pressing against a one that was pretty close in front of us. The horn sounded off, a group of people immediately rushing towards us, their eyes visible in the darkness.

Swallowing I raised my gun to eye level, not wasting any time to aim and shoot at one of the shorter girls in the room- a loud buzz sounded, a tally mark appearing under the number five on the screen. I smirked, hearing her curse from here as I raised the gun once more- hitting her companion in a patch right in the shoulder.

"You're a good shot, Blondie" Conner panted, right as Tyler hot hit in the kneecap with a long blast of a blue ray. He swore this time, shaking his head "Mind if I start helping my friend up there. You seem more than capable of carrying out revenge on your own."

"Go for it Conner" I responded giving him a wink as I started to creep against the back wall. I had to admit- I was getting into the game more than I thought I was. Something about running around with complete strangers in a dark room had a certain type of adrenaline to it.

My mouth was dry, it smelled like a Halloween store, or at least it's stock room. The air was salty like sweat, which was beginning to form on my own brow- despite the rough cold. I kept my gun close, pressing into one of the walls closest to the edges of the game. The blue flag was in view- tempting me to rush forward instead of searching for Mamrie. If I got that flag- that would certainly boost my street cred with the girl.

I started to trot forward when the coast was clear.

In this moment, the world seemed to blur around me, the ground coming up under me as air threatened to leave my lungs. A sharp pain ran up the base of my leg, budding at my kneecap as I rolled over on my back, grumbling as my eyes focused on the rafters as I blinked rapidly.

A large figure stood almost on top of me now- pointing the tip of the gun towards my chest.

"You little shit," I sighed, both of us knowing how unfair it was to physically wound another player in the game. Some people took this way too seriously. A loud ding sounded again as a blue light hit the person on top of me, catching both of our attentions as the person in the shadows continued to hit the kid on top of me until a louder horn sounded off- signaling expulsion from the game.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Hart? You're on my team."

Mamrie?

"I only play with people who know the rules of the game."

Defiantly not Mamrie.

A small hand reached down to pull me to my feet as I winced in pain, not fully putting weight on my left leg. I tried to shift myself around, but ended up taking in a sharp intake of air that prompted the short haired girl to push into my side to keep me up. The other player had stalked off, but not before giving the girl plastered into me the finger.

"Yeah, well fuck you too buddy." I grumbled, earning a small chuckle from the blue team's moral compass. From what I could tell in the darkness- she had striking eyes that almost matched the color of her vest.

"You think I can take you back to your flag without your group shooting me down?" her voice was soft, her blonde hair falling into her gaze. I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek as the taste of blood coated my tongue.

"Thank you for that." I mumbled as I limped by her side. One of her arms was wrapped carefully around my mid-section while she held her free hand on my stomach to steady me as we hopped towards the base.

"It's my duty," She said, puffing up her chest with a sly smirk, "I make it a point to rescue damsels in distress."

"Oh please," I rolled my eyes "I could pistol whip your ass if I hadn't been knocked on mine."

She let out a loud laugh as we made our way up the long ramp. We had surprisingly avoided both Connor and Tyler- who were no doubt attempting to do the same thing I was moment ago. Maybe they'd have more luck at retrieving the flag than I would.

I could see red velvet stand up from her position on the wall, aiming the gun before I raised my hands in surrendence, letting her dip the barrel down to her shoulder as I sent a glare the boys way. They still held their positions strongly.

"Come on," the smaller girl whispered to me as she delicately sat me down against the base of the wall. "take off your shoe."

"Huh?" I lifted my chin slightly in confusion.

"Come on, just take off your shoe- I want to see if it's broken."

"I don't take off my shoes on the first date." I bantered quickly "I'll be fine."

"Okay," the girl raised her hands up in the air, her plastic gun in one hand "How about you just give me your phone then?"

"Why?" I clenched my jaw wary of the girl, but still captivated by her crystal gaze.

"I want to see if that second date thing is true. Phone?"

I let out a shaky sigh, both intimidated and turned on by how forward she was being with me. I started to move my hands across my jeans, patting my pockets until I produced a cell phone into her hands. She smirked, her face finally illuminated by the dull light of the screen.

She was absolutely stunning, her hair blonde and cropped short, her blue eyes just as vibrant as they were in the pitch. Her jaw could cut stone, her features porcelain, a small brown freckle resting at the tip of her nose. "I'm Hannah by the way." She mumbled as she put her name into my contacts.

"Grace."

"Nice to meet you," she put the phone back into my grasp "ice that ankle and give me a call. I'd love to hang out somewhere a little less dark."

She stood, holding one hand up to my team mates as she started to walk away; her vest clinking as the plastic rubbed together.

"Thanks' Hannah" I called after her, she stopped, turning around with a wink before pulling the trigger on her gun. The ray of blue hit me right in the chest before she gave me a little salute and ran off as red velvet and her companions began to shoot at the other Hart that I had the pleasure of meeting.

"What the fuck Hart?" I called over her as she trotted away, before I slid my back down to the base of the floor again- smiling like an idiot.

#Gracehelbig #Hannahhart #hartbig #fanfiction #oneshot

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mickysedota · 4 years

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Nietzsche’s Dragon

February 23, 2019

My Casual Dating Partner was offered a job in Norway. 75% chance he’s going, he says. Unless he thinks a better future could be made in this one other branch, after he talks to those people. I would say, the best future is made by the best present. Norway.

And what about me? We didn’t talk about me. All of the unspoken conclusions are: yes, I want to come, no I don’t have any money. Besides, how can we commit to one another so soon?

I want to go, of course, but do I? I think about my grandmother. I can call her. We can skype. My cat and tortoise, where will they stay? I would have to bum around, noncommittal bouncing from friend’s houses to hostels to air bnb’s. Waiting for Casual Dating Partner to feel like he’s ready to commit, until I’m bored of that. Working stubbornly at a writing career that will not pay off. Surfing travel visas and foreign languages, tethered to my best friend’s couch in Berlin.

I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to make money. I don’t know why I can’t be a machine, like other people. That’s why I write so much. My left brain is employed at deciphering my right brain. Although, writing, as Didion points out, doesn’t really lead to any real conclusions. Just introverted speculation to spring the mind of psychoanalysts, priests and the like.

What about me. I have wanted to go to Europe for a long time. I have so much to see. Last night I fell asleep watching Finding your Roots on PBS. Henry Lewis Gates, Jr. talks about immigrants who came to the United States with nothing and made empires out of their families. I would be leaving the United States the same way my great grandfather arrived; penniless and through new york. Into the unknown.

The thing about coming from nothing is, anywhere you go is either more of the same or it’s something. Sheryl Sandberg’s story reminds us that whole towns of Jewish people were annihilated. Completely wiped out, entire histories of ancient people. For centuries, in Europe all the way back to the Roman Empire, they had taxes for Jews. Candle tax, meat tax, tolerance tax. Tolerance to exist. Pay your government money to tolerate you.

Here I am, in my bed with all my pride and my wiggling cat. My drooling nose, my jello head. My sweatpants and my desires. People in my family struggled to survive so that I can do this: sit around, slightly educated and with easy means to eat.

What about me.

I feel extremely outside of my capabilities to do anything. My problems all exist because I am broke. I need to sign on to the tutoring website and just make some money. It’s right there waiting for me, nothing is stopping me. Except my brain. When I think about doing it, I freak out. I am afraid, like I’ll need to smoke weed afterward to recover. I don’t have any. But, I feel like when I get to work, it will tear me in pieces, starting from the top of my head, through the center of my skull, throat, esophagus, until my guts are spilled everywhere. I don’t know what I have to do differently for this not to be my reality.

Meditate, or something. I don’t know. The pregnant therapist always reminds me to think about how my emotions feel in my body. I already practiced this before we met, but it was a nice reminder. Now she is leaving the clinic and I will be tossed in the shuffle again. Waiting for a new therapist to get in touch with me. A third therapist. Third in four months.

The other therapist, the young nymph, advised me to take my work down to part time. “If you had uncontrollable diarrhea,” she said, “so that you’d have to go to the bathroom enough to interrupt your work day, wouldn’t you take time off?” Yes. So, I went down to part time because I was still delivering food then. I thought I could cover my butt that way, but I just did my taxes and discovered I lost money with how much my car depreciated. I guess I survived but, not into this year.

I knew cutting my hours was a premature decision when I followed through with it. I knew she didn’t know me very well yet. She didn’t really care. She knew we would only meet a few times before she left the clinic. She speaks to so many people every week who are fucked and not improving. She probably feels like she could say anything and her clients will just stay fucked.

On the other hand, I was missing work a lot due to mental health problems. I might have lost my job if I hadn’t gone down to part time. I hate feeling like a failure. I feel like I have nothing to show for myself. I sound like the people confessing their disabilities to the judges. This city is abysmally grey. Walls of grey. Walls of grey falling in on me, like the course hair of an old woman smothering me to death.

I am a hearing reporter for Social Security. I record people telling judges why they can’t work because they are disabled and transcribe what they say.

I’m an asshole because, since I went down to part time, I picked up a different part time gig. Tutoring college students by providing feedback on their papers via the internet. I have a job that I can do from anywhere in the country. Maybe anywhere in the world, but I can’t do it because I feel like my insides are decaying like the vermin shit in the abandoned house across the street. The Catch-22 of mental health. I wish I had a therapist I could call. Ghost-busters.

But I don’t. I have to figure this out on my own, like everyone else. Like everyone else?

Nietzsche’s Dragon, “Thou-shalt.” The Lion stalks the dragon, needs to eat the dragon. Becomes what he eats. Becomes what “I must,” and in doing so slays the dragon. Then the lion is transformed into a new child, exploring the world with fresh eyes. I must slay my dragon, the dragon whose scales represent each pressing requirement bestowed upon me by the world. Eating the dragon is a process of discriminating the world outside of me from the world within me. Eat the dragon whole and shit out what won’t nourish me. Take it all in, do what I must and reject what I don’t need.

To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay unto duty: for that, my brethren, there is need of the lion.

To assume the right to new values—that is the most formidable assumption for the load-bearing and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such a spirit is it preying, and the work of a beast of prey.

As its holiest, it once loved “Thou-shalt”: now is it forced to illusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest things, that it may capture freedom from its love: the lion is needed for this capture. –thus spake Zarathustra.

This reminds me of untying the Vishnu Granthi. It requires letting go of things we attached to with compassionate. This chakra book I have says we end up vowing to rid the world of its complications, and thereby “willfully [get] caught by the cycle of life and death.” When I was in high school, I think I did this naturally. I said, “fuck you” (aka “holy Nay”) to all the pressures my white picket fence neighborhood required of me, my holy Thou-shalt, the desire to please my parents, to practice circus tricks for college boards. I was fully Lion. Full ego, consuming Thou-shalt and shitting all over the suburbs.

That was a proverbial thousand years ago, but I still remember my Full Lion mind. Cutting school, sneaking out, creating my own space for creating.

In my twenties I created many worlds. Many loves, many roads, many dreams. Lifetimes lived and died. Caught in the cycles of life and death? Perhaps. Perhaps that is my PTSD.

Kundalini rises through the navel chakra, heart and slithers into the northern region of my body, my throat and brain and soma, where the Rudra Granthi is all tied up. My Lion Ego feasts and roars and subsides. Is my spirit represented in the form of a child now? One who creates her own values, now, after having discarded that which was imposed on me that I do not need. Created space for my new creations, a baby reborn and bouncing on the knee of her mother earth, as Joe Campbell suggests in his interpretation of Thus Spake Zarathustra. (He has a wonderful way of unifying mythologies.)

Yet another world, another lifetime, freedom from previous attachments and aversions that keep me driving in circles in my hometown.

And I am a new Lion. Not the same Lion stalking the same dragon as I was in high school or in my twenties. A lion the same as those lions, a dragon as mean as the rest, but these characters are specific to this story, this lifetime. This Lion is the hungriest so far, because it evolved from a camel that carried more than the rest. And this dragon is the largest so far because it has compiled scales for many more centuries than the other dragons.

“Thou Shalt Make Money To Please Your Man.” That’s basically how I feel about money. It’s something I have to do for other people. Make money. After your boss rapes you and hands you $50-$100 in cash, that you need for groceries, making money is the last thing you want to do. It seems like everyone admires people with money, no matter what they do to get it. Some people use money like a shield so other people think they're fine. Not me though, I carry a burden. I am not fine. It's clear that I'm fucked up. I make money so that people who love me don't have to worry about bailing me out of the shit I get myself into. At the very base of my motivation, I make money so that I don't have to wind up working for someone else who will rape me, or make me listen to monologues of his sex life while he fondles his half-mast dick.

Money is always for other people, never satisfaction for me. Damn, I really wish I had a therapist. I don’t feel any connection between the money I earn and acquiring nice things for myself or taking care of myself. It’s always meant to stave off impending doom. It’s not fun. It’s not a measure of my efforts. It’s not empowering. It’s distracting.

But now I have a job where I can make money in a way that does contribute to my brain health rather than distracting me from it. Tutoring by reviewing college essays is beneficial to my goal of being a writer. Part of being a writer is being part of the woodwork of other writers. Being absorbed in the craft. Critiquing the craft. This is what I argued I should be doing all along. Why is it hard to do it then?

Because I built an identity based off my struggle with money. And I think I internalized a struggle with money from listening to my dad struggle with money. He would drink and argue tirelessly against capitalism and organized religion and charge the groceries on the credit card because he spent his paycheck at the bar. My mom would freak the fuck out. I sided with dad because I was a child and I didn’t know any better than I saw a person being attacked and felt his fragility under his pride when he held me. Felt whatever sadness he carried. His greatest strength is that he will never let me go.

Last week my mom reminded me that I am just like my dad, from the way we solve problems to the way we hole up in our corners. I am trying to realize how I am not like him. We are, in fact, 2 different people. We have different problems. We have different points of view. I’d rather smoke than drink.

Money. Now that he is not drinking, he is very responsible. Very calculated and scrutinizing, just like his father. I read a newspaper clipping from the 1950’s once where they described a raid of a house where they ran numbers. While everyone there scattered and the police rounded up the evidence, a man sat concentrated at a desk doing math. That was my grandfather.

What about me. They call me Micky, after him. But I’m "no good at math", after Fiona Apple.

It’s time to form a new identity, about this. It’s hard for me to make money because I have to tear down this previous identity. Have to be more than my father’s daughter so I can be someone’s mother. My own mother.

Anyway, my dad formed a new identity so he could be a better father.

Maybe I feel like my insides are decaying because my ego is dying and I am becoming something new.

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legsbpedaling-blog · 7 years

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Chapter 5 Japan.

I'll admit the first group of Marines I interacted with at first weren't high up on the role model ladder. I did learn from their mistakes however. Not to drink too often, do what I'm told by my superiors and watch my attitude around people I did not know.

Base didn't have too many options for hobbies so I got into computers. Back when the Internet wasn't infiltrated with snot nosed script kiddies trying to look cool. Most of my evenings were spent pirating music and movies. My collection was becoming impressive. Marines knew who to go to if they wanted to fill a hard drive up.

Another guy in my unit was also into computers and we shared our knowledge. His name was Owens and he didn’t interact too much with people outside his computer and phone. Caught up in some long-distance relationship from a girl back home in Michigan. Completely whipped.

On one of the rare outings we found ourselves at the mall. No specific reason for being there, perhaps a much-needed escape from base. Oddly enough, we ended up standing in a jewelry store.

“Are you getting a new watch or something?” I asked Owens.

“Not exactly” He replied. He kept pacing back and forth, all while avoiding eye contact with any of the sales people.

“Buy me a new one then!” I laughed.

“I’m checking out some rings. I’ve been thinking a lot about my girl back home and I’m going to ask her to marry me.” He said.

“Don’t do it! It’s a trap and you know as soon as you deploy she’s just going to fuck some other guy. Then drain your bank account and force you to pay child support for two decades bro.” That reply was drilled into our minds by Marines who have watched it happen on numerous occasions.

“Nah man, she’s not like the skanks you see around base. She’s a smart girl. She will be visiting soon and you’ll get to meet her.”

“Yeah considering all I know about her now, is she exists inside your damn phone. You’re whipped.” I laughed. I wasn’t trying to make him feel bad for asking his girl to marry him. I don’t know, to me it was a bad move this early in the Marines and all of us were too young. There was no persuading him. A few weeks after he bought the ring, they were engaged.

Time to gather up all the gear and board a plane for Japan! A paid vacation to a country a lot of people wish they could visit. Relieved in a way my first deployment wasn't going to be in an area where bombs were going off, then again all of this training and nothing to use it on was irritating. I was growing up in an artillery unit. It was in our nature to want to blow something up.

The trip seemed to take forever. Each time we were told to pick up our bags someone else would appear and tell us we had to standby. Owens and I entertained a small group of Marines by showing movies on small laptop screens. Movies or porn, depending on the wall space we could plug into.

We finally arrived at our new home, Okinawa, Japan. The building was bland with an empty parking lot in front of it. The company commander delivered our welcome briefing after we off loaded all our bags from the seven ton trucks.

The barracks were six stories high, the sixth floor being our new home. Each of our bags weighed anywhere from fifty to eighty pounds, and oh yeah, we weren't allowed to use the elevators.

One hundred and twelve Marines all crammed towards the doors trying to get to the stairs first, it was a mess. I noticed on the left side that it also had stairwells on the ends of the building. Picked up my bags and took the simple way to my room. Turns out the side doors were locked. Designed to be exit only in case of an emergency. I walked my happy ass back down the stairs and waited for the bottle neck of Marines to dissipate.

The hallway floors looked to be polished. So much so that we could look into it and see our reflections. They didn't always look that way, many of us took turns sweeping, mopping and buffing the floors. We tried to be slick and disable the buffer. Not a good plan. Our corporal made us get the same shiny results using tee shirts to polish the floors.

Living on a base in another country was like living in a bubble. Everything outside the gate was foreign and interesting. Everywhere we went we had to go on foot. I missed the speed of my bike.

During the first month, we made every effort to get out and explore. For some of the marines this was there second or third deployment. I didn't fully trust the advice given by them, because I wasn't sure if they were trying to keep us away from all the good spots.

We went out and trained often when we weren't losing our minds over boredom on base. We all hated our jobs, but continued to do them to not fuck over the other guy. I suppose that's how it is with any unit in the military. We knew when it came down to it, if we were to ever deploy to a combat zone we would be there to have each other’s backs.

In the coming months, we were privileged enough to visit some pretty amazing places. Spent a week, due to shitty sea weather that grounded us, in Nagasaki. It was interesting to stand on the landmark to the epicenter where the atomic bomb dropped. The atmosphere was still spooky in parts of the city. The trees grew at the same length which made sense.

Throughout the city, we could sense that the citizens didn't approve of our presence. To make matters worse, one of my friends kept making a whistling noise mimicking a bomb dropping. He was hilarious, but a sick bastard at heart.

“And you wonder why they still hate us.” I sighed.

“Did you see the look on their faces though?” He laughed. Still unable to control his inner asshole.

When the weather cleared up, we drifted over to Fuji. Such a beautiful part of earth. Aside from all the training we did blowing shit up, we had the opportunity to climb Mount Fuji. If you've never been let me describe it from a dumb Marines perspective. Owens, my friend Ski and I took off from the group to try to run up the side of the mountain. In our minds, we were going to be the first ones that day to the top. The damn mountain was a lot larger than we originally thought. The rocks were a mix of reds and browns. Rarely did we come across any vegetation, other than the base of the mountain.

We slowed down once reality caught up with us and continued to walk as fast as we could. Old women and children native to Japan started passing us. Each time we thought we were almost to the top a new section would appear. Took hours to reach the top. I made Mount Fuji my bitch.

The top was breathtaking! Some smart businessman put a gift shop at the top, full of merchandise covered in Mount Fuji advertising. Not sure what they make in sales, but I'd hate to be the guy making the deliveries.

Getting our second wind, we ran around taking pictures because when you can stand on top of the world you want to remember it. The excitement prevented me from wanting to sit and rest. I collected up several volcanic rocks and stuffed them into my back pack. Free souvenirs!

The Marines behind us made it up to the top, and with more energy left over. One of them told me that at the bottom of the other side there was a place to get ice cream. Time to head back down! The side of the mountain was made up of tiny loose rocks. Almost like stepping into a pile of sand with a little larger grain sizes. Going down was easier than the trip up, obviously.

We started lengthening our strides to make good time. Before long we were jogging down the side of Mount Fuji. Not the best idea we ever came up with, but it was exhilarating. As the speed increased so did our awareness it was impossible to slow ourselves down.

In the distance, I noticed a couple of large boulders in my direct path! I wasn't going to have enough time to dodge them so I did the next best thing, I jumped. The stupidest stunt ever performed on that mountain I'm sure.

My body left the earth and I became airborne. My head tilted forward until I was in a superman pose flying passed other climbers. I was in the air for about twenty feet before finally coming back down. My head landed first sending me into several somersaults. By the time I was able to stop I had traveled about one hundred feet from the damn large boulder. Needless to say, I took home a three-day headache along with my volcanic rocks.

Another guy from our unit opted not to climb the mountain. He went the group who hung out in Tokyo. He was our token alcoholic and ended up getting lost by himself somewhere in the city. Hell, it was rare to see him sober. Tales were told of a day or two among the unit. The commanding officer chewed all of our asses for losing him. The police eventually found him sitting on a sidewalk holding his arrive alive card. (Card with unit contact information) Got to hand it to him, even sloshed he knew how to get back to us.

We returned to Okinawa after our series of training operations. My birthday was fast approaching in November. No longer would I have to beg others to pick up alcohol for me. I would be able to go to the local bars without fear of being caught by my superiors. The week or so before turning twenty-one I would drink with a few friends in my barracks room. I guess you could say, we were prepping my body for a large amount of poisoning.

Happy Birthday! The entire day seemed to drag on forever. Some of my friends took out extra cash to make sure we had enough to properly reach a fucked-up stage. We left the base around eight, venturing into an area called Kinville. Or Sinville for those of you who know what I'm talking about. We walked into a tiny bar with two or three people and I ordered my first legal drink. A jack and coke.

Marines are assholes. Plain and simple. The next bar was packed and upon entering my friend yelled, "this Marine just turned twenty-one!" The drinks started appearing out of nowhere. Beer, shots, jack and cokes, rum and cokes and whatever else, I can't honestly remember.

“I’m going to regret all of this in the morning!” I yelled across the bar.

The last stop was in a bar called East Coast. Located on the second floor of a rundown building across from base. We didn't slow down. My last memory was being handed something called a rainbow shot. It was said to be so potent that it wasn't allowed to leave the bar once they lit it on fire. Step one, blow out the shot; step two, blackout.

The rest of the night was retold by my friends in the days to come. I'll share the adventure with you. I blew out the rainbow shot and downed the contents. From there I turned into the crowd grabbing other people's drinks and chugging them. The inevitable trip to the bathroom sent me hopping over a table, slapping a girl in the ass and tripping over a bar stool. Inside the bathroom was a shower stall, not sure why. I proceeded to throw up in the stall while people in the bathroom laughed at me.

Left the bathroom and told Owens it was time to leave. He followed behind me as I literally rolled my way down the stairs to the main street below. Stumbling the entire way up to the cross walk, my friends thought I was going to be put on restriction for being so intoxicated.

We approached the road directly across from the base main gate. I took a few deep breaths, remembered every James Bond movie ever made and reached for my military ID. Miraculously I went from trashed to seemingly sober in the time it took me to cross the road. I walked up to the gate without a stumble in my step, said good evening to the guard as he checked my ID and let me pass.

Forty or so feet after the gate I switched back to drunk. Fell into a bush and my friends had to walk me the remaining tenth of a mile to the barracks. Half hour later I was found lying down in the hallway with my key in the door and my hand still attached to it. Somewhere there exists a picture of the hallway scene. I have since lost track of it.

The next morning, I woke up in my bed, without a hangover. Not sure exactly how the hell I escaped fate, but I was appreciative. The following night was just as fun. More alcohol!

One of my best friends wanted to drink a few in the barracks because he wasn't able to join us for my birthday. Turns out he had a magical ability to get completely shit faced off four beers. This was back when Budweiser was releasing their four packs of aluminum bottles. Being the caring Marines as we always are, we took care of him.

First, we placed him in the bath tub and shaved one of his legs. Moot point to shave both of them. We then decorated him in sharpie art and followed him back into his room. Didn't take much to convince him of an impending dust storm. We put his goggles on him and tucked him into bed.

He kept mumbling something about being sick. We put great effort into getting him to throw up in his own Kevlar. (Helmet, for the nonmilitary folk.) Few months went by and it was time to pack up our shit and wait in line for another plane.

#Travel #Marines #Japan #Drinking #Writing #Book #My story #USMC #Planes #Drunk #Mount Fuji #Mountains #Headache #Humor #Nagasaki #War #Artillery

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growingupguidepup · 4 years

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Airlines Have Double Standards for Canines? – GUGP- Part - 2

The last flight I took with Penny back in the beginning of October, we encountered a slight issue. We traveled on an airline that we have used several times in the past with four different puppies without any issues. We checked in and boarded our first flight out of Minneapolis without any issues other than our plane was delayed. No questions asked about her, or “paperwork” for her. Penny was a super good girl and waited in the terminal very patiently. We boarded the flight during the pre-board time so we could get her all settled in. She slept almost the whole flight to Denver where we had a plane change. Because our flight was delayed we basically had enough time to get off the first plane and walk to to gate to the next one where they were already boarding, so no chance to pre-board.

We get in line and the agent at the desk calls out to us and asks if we are on the flight. Why yes, of course we are. She then asked to see our tickets because she has nothing in her paperwork that a dog was scheduled on that flight. We were pulled out of line (in front of everyone) and questioned about how we booked our flight, where our “paperwork” for Penny was, and why didn’t we have clearance from the airline’s “medical” department. When we stated that we had already been on one flight that day with the airline the agent was quick to say that whoever checked us in at the Minneapolis airport messed up.

Long story short, it took over 20 minutes of this agent telling us that we needed paperwork and were supposed to get pre cleared through their “medical” department for Penny to fly with us. She said that it stated very clearly on their website that these were the necessary steps when you fly with a service dog. I admit I was not fully honest with them in letting them know that Penny was still in training, But they didn’t ask either. They never asked what she was trained for or if she was a service dog or an emotional support dog. I was terrified that they were only going to allow her to fly in cargo and if that was the case we were going to have to rent a car and do a two-day drive home from Denver, I will not put one of my puppies in cargo, so I did leave that detail out.

At one point, another agent expressed concern that the flight might not leave on time because of the situation and the agent in charge said, “Don’t worry, we can put them on the next flight.” Well that isn’t fair, we hadn’t done anything different booking this trip than I had in the past with previous puppies. The last thing I wanted to do was sit in an airport longer than I had to with a young puppy just trying to get home. We talked with a supervisor and then on the phone with this so called “medical” department and we were finally allowed to board the fight.

When we got home, I went to the airline’s website and nothing that the agent claimed was written as policy was there. And what was Penny doing throughout this stressful ordeal? Laying quietly at my feet being a model example of how a service dog should behave. Not a single sound out of her, not a single tug on her leash, barely a change in her position the entire time. On top of that when we went to our seats two other people had decided to sit there because the seats were next to each other and their assigned seats were not. We had to walk down the aisle past our seats and wait with Penny in the aisle as they shifted seats. Penny was then forced to walk backwards to our seats because there was not enough room in the aisle for her to turn around. She did so without a problem or fuss. She backed up down the aisle, into our seats and laid right down. I heard a few passengers behind us talking about what an amazing dog she was. We had never trained for this specific scenario, but because we had been working with her in stores with shopping carts and tight spaces and restaurants learning how to settle under tables she was able to adapt in this less than ideal situation. But she is the dog that was almost denied boarding a plane.

Now most puppy raisers are raising for specific organizations, and those organizations have their own policies about whether or not they will allow their puppies travel by plane. As an example, when I was raising for Guide Dogs for the Blind, I had to submit a travel request form before we went anywhere out of our home area with a puppy. We had to get that approved by our group leaders first and then approved by our community field representative. People above me had to make the final decision on whether or not the puppy in question was ready to travel, and airline travel required even more thought before approval. They keep very close tabs on the progress of their puppies.

We flew with Ricki on a very short flight to southern California when we were raising her and because she had a little bit of anxiety on the flight there and back, nothing major just a little panting, shaking and unsettled behavior, but enough that we were not allowed to fly her on our following trip to Las Vegas. We drove instead. Now not every organization is as stringent as this, but many organizations will not allow one of their puppies to be put into a situation like airline travel if they are not ready to do so. This is another factor in why I don’t understand why it is so hard to fly with a puppy in training when it is so easy with an ESA. There are safe guards in place for many puppies in training, but the airlines are not aware of these either.

Every time we have traveled with a puppy, the airline crew was always so happy to see a well-behaved dog on their flight, like it is a refreshing change. They must be used to stressed out, out of control ESAs. I would be willing to bet that the chances of a puppy/dog in training being better behaved or better prepared to fly than most ESAs on flights is almost a guarantee, but it is the puppy raiser traveling with a puppy or dog in training that has a higher chance of not being allowed to fly. No one ever talks about this. This is something that I think really needs to change. I’m not saying that ESAs should be banned from flying either. I’m sure many people do benefit from them, and that many dogs do behave appropriately on planes. But to allow any dog with just a note from a doctor is not enough. There really should be some sort of regulation put into place to protect these animals and the people that encounter them. Proof of canine good citizenship at the bare minimum, but more would be better. Each time I travel with a puppy, on a plane or not, it has always made a big impact on that puppy. They grow so much on these trips and travel is very valuable in their training process. I’m sure that is helps them to become better service dogs.

Not every puppy will be ready to travel by plane while it is with a raiser. Many puppies we have raised I would never have put on a plane. There is no way that it would have been in the puppy’s best interest. I will also be the first to admit that traveling on a plane with a puppy can be very stressful for me, but my puppy’s needs always come first. I pick flight times that I think will work best for my puppy. I will plan for layovers if I think that flight length will be took long without a potty break for my puppy. I will pay extra for more foot room some my puppy will be more comfortable. It is usually not a relaxing flight for me because I am always watching and ready to reposition my puppy if needed or respond to anything my puppy may need to keep them stress free and comfortable for the flight. During Penny’s first experience flying I spent a good portion of the flight moving her feet out of the aisle and keeping her from touching the person next to us. She didn’t mind that I kept repositioning her, but I wasn’t able to relax at all during the flight. I need for my puppies to have a good experience or it may leave a lasting bad impression for the puppy and possibly anyone else on that plane.

I do everything I can to prepare my puppies for flight. We practice lying quietly under seats for long periods of time. We take trips on crowded loud mass transit. I take them to the busiest shopping centers I can find. Anything that I can do to simulate going through an airport and sitting on a plane. The more I can get them used to these things the better.

Do all people who travel with ESAs think about these things or just that they want the beloved animal along and/or think the trip will be too hard to do without them? Is there anyone coaching ESA travelers on how to make the trip easier on their pet? I don’t think people really think about all of this when they decide to travel with an animal. I know that when I have been prepping and making plans to travel with my puppies by plane my coworkers often make comments of “I never thought of that” when I talk to them about the prep work I do to make the trip a successful one for all involved (that includes the flight crew, other passengers, the puppy and myself and anyone in my traveling party).

So who is advocating for the puppy raisers or trainers trying to travel while training with their puppy or dog? Service dog users have the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) to fall back on when in public, and the ACAA (Air Carrier Access Act) protects service dog teams and ESAs in the air. But puppy raisers don’t have anything in place, and neither do owner trainers. The foundation these raisers instill into these puppies is the reason why so many dogs make it through the training process to become fully functioning service dogs. Without all the hard work puppy raisers do and all the situations they expose and work these puppies through, there would be a lot fewer service dogs. But for some reason, the airlines don’t recognize this. The airlines can really help in the training process and the benefits that these puppies can receive by allowing them the access.

Some of the larger service dog organizations do have certain agreements with specific airlines for their program puppies. SouthWest Airlines allows Canine Companions for Independence puppies on their flights with permission and proper paperwork from the organizations. But what about the smaller, lesser known organizations or owners who train their own dogs? They may not have the resources to make these same arrangements. Does that mean that the raisers in these situations can’t have the same opportunities for their puppies? Or that the dogs they place are not as entitled or important as the larger organizations? How about the number of raisers who don’t live close to an organization where the formal training happens? There are a number of organizations that allow their raisers to live anywhere in the U.S. as long as those raisers will be willing to transport the puppies to and from the organization when needed. Think how much those organizations and people with disabilities would benefit if transporting puppies on flights were allowed. It would be a win-win for everyone. The organizations who depend on these arrangements would get more raisers, potentially, and therefore be able to produce and place more service dogs with people who need them, and the puppies would get valuable training in the process. I can guarantee that the people who receive these dogs from even the smallest organization or who owner-train think that their dog is just as important and should have had the same opportunities as a puppy or dog from a large organization.

So I ask you the public, service dog users, puppy raisers, or just someone who uses airline transportation: Who would you rather sit next to on a plane? Or better yet, airline executives! Maybe you should ask your flight crew about who and what they would rather have to deal with at work before you write and implement a policy. A person with a puppy who is being raised and trained to behave appropriately and to be comfortable with air travel—or someone with a pet dog or, in some cases, a turkey, iguana, monkey, parrot, or anything else, that is traveling with that animal either because they need it for their own mental health or faking it to avoid the extra fees involved or the requirement to put their dog or other animal in cargo for transport. A pet that may or may not have been conditioned or mentally able to handle the stress of being on an airplane. Maybe it is time to speak up not only about the dogs who should not be on planes, but the ones who really should.

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growingupguidepup · 4 years

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Airlines Have Double Standards for Canines? - Part - 2

Some of the larger service dog organizations do have certain agreements with specific airlines for their program puppies. SouthWest Airlines allows Canine Companions for Independence puppies on their flights with permission and proper paperwork from the organizations. But what about the smaller, lesser known organizations or owners who train their own dogs? They may not have the resources to make these same arrangements. Does that mean that the raisers in these situations can’t have the same opportunities for their puppies? Or that the dogs they place are not as entitled or important as the larger organizations? How about the number of raisers who don’t live close to an organization where the formal training happens? There are a number of organizations that allow their raisers to live anywhere in the U.S. as long as those raisers will be willing to transport the puppies to and from the organization when needed. Think how much those organizations and people with disabilities would benefit if transporting puppies on flights were allowed. It would be a win-win for everyone. The organizations who depend on these arrangements would get more raisers, potentially, and therefore be able to produce and place more service dogs with people who need them, and the puppies would get valuable training in the process. I can guarantee a large that the people who receive these dogs from even the smallest organization or who owner-train think that their dog is just as important and should have had the same opportunities as a puppy or dog from organization.

For more details on our products and services, please feel free to visit us at: psychiatric service dog, veteran dog, medical alert dog, puppy, puppies.

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growingupguidepup · 4 years

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Do Airlines Have Double Standards for Canines - Part 2

For more details on our products and services, please feel free to visit us at service dog education, service dog in training, sdit, service dog in training acronym, service dog

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