#this metaphor for the jeep as their trust and love for each other and a thing that will be there for stiles when he comes back

[beaulesbian]

After my son left it behind, Derek towed it in, thinking it was probably beyond repair. But then he opened up the hood and he pulled off all the duck tape Stiles had stuck on it. And he managed to fix it. That Jeep, no matter what’s been done to it, it just keeps running. He could never figure out why it wouldn’t break down and stay down.

And I don’t think he ever realized that that’s exactly the way we saw him. I have never seen anyone take that kind of punishment that Derek Hale took, and kept taking, in order to protect the people he loved.

#something something this whole speech in the movie about derek protecting the peopl e he loved #and in the show many times it was stiles who had his back and actually worked with him and they protected each other #this metaphor for the jeep as their trust and love for each other and a thing that will be there for stiles when he comes back #so derek is working on the jeep and if eli steals it from time to time because it drives (hehe) derek mad but hes mostly amused #at the connection there well whos to say if it isnt love right? right #teen wolf #sterek #this is mostly just me giffing my favorite scene of theirs because i never made gifs for them #derek hale #stiles stilinski #eli hale #eli hale stilinski #sheriff stilinski #mine #gif:sterek #sterekedit #eternalsterek #twedit #teenwolfedit

[buckybarnesss]

Sterek really is the lasagna of queerbait. It's essential to the shows narrative. It is never jossed, they just add more and more layers as to WHY Derek and Stiles should fuck nasty. At every opportunity, Jeff adds more and more.

Why make Derek a goddamn widower, endlessly toiling on Stiles' most prized possessen?? It's insane. At every turn, more and more sterek piles up!!

sterek is so complicated because it's used as queerbait but it's also in the narrative.

derek and stiles's arc are intertwined.

derek doesn't achieve growth without stiles nor he does he learn to trust others or himself again. derek's role in stiles's arc becomes the most prominent when derek is absent. it's no coincidence derek return to the narrative is with stiles and it bookends how it began. full circle.

than there's the stupid goddamn movie.

there was no reason for the jeep metaphor. none. jeff chose that. he chose to break lydia and stiles up unceremoniously too. it's not like just because stiles wasn't there meant they had to break up. he also chose to put the jeep with derek.

there wasn't any real reason for it. last we knew stiles had given it to scott.

which.....knowing derek was meant to be in radio silence gives me some added perspective because the jeep was stiles's relic. like we know the jeep was so associated with stiles it was in the opening credits with him for two seasons. the jeep is a connection stiles had to his mother and it represented his emotional state in season 5. he literally declared in s4 (while searching for derek) he wouldn't ever leave it behind.

but he gave it to scott and yet somehow it ended up derek's hands and derek kept it, worked on it and fixed it.

we've discussed the significance of that already. the sheer unhinged maddness of derek doing this.

the physical manifestation the show used to represent stiles's soul, his connection to reality and to his life is in the care of derek hale and derek refused to give up on it even if he has a complicated relationship with it.

which just goes back to stiles being essential to derek's emotional growth and healing throughout the show.

giving up on stiles would be derek giving up on himself.

because they're each other's anchors and they're in love goddamn it.

#my blog #thoughts on teen wolf #teen wolf #sterek #the sterek agenda #the sterek lasagna metaphor #otp: you need me to survive #which came first the ship or the queerbait #can one exist without the other? #not for teen wolf #jeff davis and his writing choices #my dude what

[canonicallyobserving911]

So... the narratives from season 6?

I literally have so many questions about the NARRATIVES for season 7 because it really doesn't seem like there are any.

There were so many things that happened in season 6 but MOST OF THEM AREN'T being discussed. Granted, Henren didn't get the 9 month old baby they were considering adopting in 6x18 and Bathena went on their cruise but what is going on with Madney's, Buck's and Eddie’s storylines?

Here's what I mean...

Madney

In 6x15 they owed the IRS money (like 14K IIRC) but in Season 7 they're having a big lavish wedding in 7x6 but the question is who's funding it (the Buckley parents)? In 6x9 they had to borrow the money for their down payment from the Buckley parents and in 7x1 Chimney spent money he got from somewhere on a hot tub. The math ain't mathing for them especially when Hen said in 6x16 that Chimney used some of Jee-Yun's college fund to buy Maddie's engagement ring. Where are they getting all this money when they were borrowing money in season 6 to buy the murder house?

Buck

I won't even go into his 1,000 storylines from season 6 because I've done it multiple times (linked here) but seriously, is the only one they're going to focus on from 6x2 is when he was trying to find happiness? What about 6x7 when he touched the cursed bracelet? What about the sperm donation because it was connected to the "Cursed" theme? He literally went to donate like 5 times and he had to run the last time after his Jeep broke down. What about his desire to be captain? What about the fact that he DIED?! What about the Buckley parents thinking his decision to be a sperm donor was idiotic? The actress who played Natalia didn't come back but what about that BS line he said in 6x15 that she "Sees him"? (Is it petty that I still want Eddie to remind him of that?) What about his desire to want a family of his own? He never said what he wanted at any time but it's a new season and the audience still doesn't know or have any answers. The point is Buck had all these stop and start storylines that didn't have any resolution and now it's like none of them happened.

Eddie

I absolutely love Eddie because he's my favorite but reminder, he only had one storyline (that was solely about him) last season and it ended up being once again about his dating life. He was looking for the "magic" and "chemistry " but is the audience supposed to believe he found that with Marisol (she doesn't have a last name and he didn't know she was a nun)? They were both acting like giggling high schoolers at the end of 6x18 but in 7x5 they moved in with each other? He didn't do that with Ana which shows they STILL AREN'T GIVING EDDIE’S STORYLINES THE ATTENTION THEY DESERVE. Furthermore, in 6x15, Eddie told Buck dating someone he rescued from a call never works but did his statement only apply to Buck and not him? Reminder, he met Marisol on a call so WTF? Additionally, the whole Marisol moving in thing was just.. I don't even have words for it because it was OOC for Eddie. Another reminder, he sacrificed everything when they left El Paso and moved to L.A. and he didn't even let Shannon see Chris for months after he called her to interview at Durand because he didn't trust her (his words in 2x10). So... is the audience who've been watching from the beginning supposed to believe Eddie would just ask some woman to move in while Chris is out of town? I call BS because that is so far from the established narrative for him it's asinine.

Buddie

So is the couch metaphor/theory dead now? It was the last thing Buck said to Natalia in 6x18. 🙄 There are 5 unresolved items from season 6 (linked here) that Buck and Eddie have yet to discuss so there's that.

IMO, it seems like season 6 could be completely erased and it wouldn't be missed. Maybe it's just me but the narrative for this season seems to be all over the place and it's like they're pulling things together to make it work when seasons 1-3 were more cohesive. I know it's a shortened season but they started working on it at the end of 2023 after the str*kes ended and the mains went back in January, so what gives?

If things continue like they have been in the second half of season 7, then I think my Buddie Crack Theory has more merit to it and if it's validated, I'll elaborate on it.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #madney #maddie buckley #chimney han #henren #bathena #bobby nash #athena grant #hen wilson #911 abc #911 speculation #911 meta #911 season 7 #911 season 7 speculation #911 season 6 speculation #Canonically Observing 9-1-1 Speaks

[aloraundomiel]

Wartober/Kisstober - Day 4

I’ve decided to combine @rubinecorvus Wartober 2021 and @raincoffeeandfandoms Kisstober 2021 prompt challenges for double the fun and double the headache. :3

Day 4 - Navigate + Slow Kisses

WARNING: POETIC AND OVERLY METAPHORED ALLUSIONS TO SEX AHEAD

Dick has always loved maps.

As a boy he’d been obsessed with charting the world, one latitude at a time. He could see the peaks of the Himalayas on every globe. The jungles of Madagascar in every atlas. The sea currents. The depths of the Pacific Ocean in every naval chart.

He’d trailed bony boy hands over the lines of longitude, zigzagging past the equator and up to each pole in turn, imagining the far off lands detailed in perfect topography beneath his fingertips and what adventures they may hold. Wild animals perhaps. Inland seas the color of blue only dreamt of, brimming over with dolphins bearing their backs of gold. Rubies deep in the planet’s crust the size of a fist, too glamorous even for the most queenly neck. Anything beyond the tidy suburban monotony of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

He’d joined the air force with a head full of boyish fantasies that never quite grew up. A misplaced Peter Pan training to plummet to the ground instead of fly, while fiery flak explodes in every direction. Dick falls from planes and navigation blows away, pulling it with him. A mere leaf in the wind. A tiny insignificant speck in a great big world.

He never lands in the lush tropical jungles of his childhood imagination. He never sets foot on the coastline with water so crystal clear you can see straight to the bottom. He lands in Hell. And there are no fantastic creatures here, no jewels or mountain-whisp clouds to chase. No sunsets over the curve of the horizon.

There’s only death. And fear. And the responsibility of leading men who look to him for guidance out of the smoke and into the daylight. He grips his compass like a lifeline and does his best. It’s almost good enough. They almost all make it to the next day.

Dick gets lost occasionally.

When he’s left to the watches of his chilly billet and the candles in the rest of the camp have long gone out. That’s when the isolation strikes hardest and the ghosts feel free to crowd in. They cast a shade so thick, he chokes, drowning on his own failures, his own insipidity. He wonders if he’ll ever make it out to see the sun again. If he’ll ever find the way back.

And then enters Nix.

With his sly, self assured grin and his dark, sardonic wit. He slips like a wish into Dick’s billet, or the potato cellar of a blown out building, or the back of the jeep when he purposely drives off the marked path. He takes Dick’s hand and cocks that brow that says “Trust me” and by God and all his angels, Dick does. He follows blindly and oh so willingly, grateful for the guide and indebted to Nix for knowing exactly when he’s in danger of venturing too far off course.

Nix strips him of the olive military wool that demands strict obedience. The color that barters not a hair of deviation from a pre-drawn map made by men who don’t know what it’s like to nose dive into the inferno of battle. Nix casts it away, tossing it to the floor and covers Dick’s skin with his own hands, paints him with his own array of colors. A black-brown fan of lashes skirting over his collarbone, the red of his mouth at Dick’s pulse point, coral pink tongue in the shell of his ear, the beach sand tan of his calloused fingers tightening around Dick’s naked bicep. Teeth with brightness to rival the Pacific white caps on his chest and abdomen. Eyes the color of expensive coffee from the tropics glancing up over his belt buckle, warm and rich.

Nix kisses him and he can feel the earth’s rotation slow beneath his feet.

Nix touches him and gravity is solid and real beneath his back once more.

Nix traces the constellation of Dick’s freckles with his lips and Dick can set time by the star’s orbit again.

He lets Nix take him apart and put him back together, piece by tattered piece. Until he’s whole and functional again, at least for a little while. Long enough to get his bearings and restart the cycle of playing tour guide through the landscape of dreary Europe, his band of Lost Boys in tow.

He comes to the siren song of Nix’s praises, his lover urging him on with clever fingers that play Dick's body like a well rehearsed instrument. When he’s caught his breath and regained his sense enough to flip their positions, Dick pins Nix down. Cages him against the cot and splays him wide, the scroll of his skin like fine golden parchment in the dim candlelight.

Nix squirms under the tenacious attention, craving speed and friction. But Dick is on a mission. He’ll recommit every part of him to memory, burying it deep in his psyche like treasure. Until the mental image of Nix bowing under his hand becomes as priceless and coveted as monstrous gemstones he can bask amongst at whim. Sorting them like a king sitting on his spoils. He’ll relearn the lines and transits of Nix’s form until he can recite in perfect detail the landmarks of his moles, the patterns of his body hair, the slope and angle of his wrists. He’ll stake his flag here, laying claim to Nix’s body and heart as conquistadors of old did to things and locations too precious to part with.

He can read his future in the curve of Nix’s hip bones. The universe in the earth tones of his eyes.

“Dick,” Nix whispers, something between a whine and a moan. He scraps desperate fingernails along Dick’s scalp, trying to steer his mouth where he needs it most. “Come on. Come on.”

Dick won’t be bullied off course. He runs the tip of his tongue along the shadow of the Adonis belt Nix used to have when he was in peak fighting shape at the start of the war, lingering at the scar just there above the pelvic crest. He lets his lips trek as fingertips do, memorizing the most scenic routes across and over and around this body he loves so dearly.

He steers southward down from the navel, following the trail of dark hair and Nix groans. He heads north to circumvent a nipple and Nix whimpers. He nibbles and sucks contrails on every inch he can find, until Nix bears the purple marks that label him as Dick’s territory and Dick’s alone.

He wrings curses and prayers and nonsense from Nix’s mouth. Until he arches beneath him and cries his release into the hush of Dick’s palm, breathy laughter squeezing through the spaces in Dick’s fingers.

“Jesus Christ,” Nix gasps, chest heaving with blasphemy and bliss. He tugs at Dick until he slides back up the length of his form, letting out the softest sigh for every slow kiss pressed to each body part on the journey up. “How do you do that? Remember exactly what gets me going? You always know.”

“I’m good at cartography,” Dick says.

“The hell does that mean?”

Dick just shrugs, cranes his neck down to pepper his shoulder with kisses.

Nix pulls a face that suggests Dick might be moderately insane, but then he laughs that ruby-ocean-wilderness-touchstone laugh of his and maneuvers Dick fully down on top of him for a long, lazy, silky sweet kiss. And though they’re both sated and satisfied for now, passing back and forth the same oxygen, filling each other's sails - it does not feel like journey’s end.

It feels like a beginning. Each and every time he’s with Nix and resets his course by the steady, unwavering foundation of his being. It’s always a new start. One he hopes against hope never stops resetting.

Because Nix has always been his True North.

Dick kisses his mouth and feels like he’s come home.

#winnix #my fic #waxing poetic #navigate #slow kisses #dick winters #lewis nixon #band of brothers #fanfic #fanfic prompt #kisstober 2021 #wartober 2021

[captainsassmanes]

“Please don’t do this.” Malex :)

It had all built up to this.

The group, human and alien alike, had been tracking and monitoring the disappearances and, occasionally, mysterious deaths. They knew another non-human was behind all the activity and they were working, shockingly, well together.

Max, newly resurrected and working tirelessly to regain Liz’s trust, was using what he could from the sheriffs department. Isabel and Maria were using their connections in the community to catch all the whispers and gossip, shuffling through the chatter to try finding some pieces of truth. Liz and Kyle rarely left the lab. Rosa had developed an affinity to Michael, grateful for his raging honesty and obvious struggles. She found a friend in him quickly and helped him in the bunker whenever he could, though she stayed clear of everyone most days. Alex kept his head down at work, listening intently to anything that sounded slightly Martian-like, and buried himself in his computer as soon as he got home.

It was a beautiful, warm day, sunny with a slight breeze, when the group chat blew up.

“I’ve got a location. Bunker now.”

Within a half hour, they had all gathered, looking over Alex’s shoulder at a spot on a map that appeared to be, literally, in the middle of nowhere.

“I see nothing.” Max was exhausted, barely sleeping as he tried keeping up with his job, his relationship and his family.

“How about now?” With the click of his mouse, the image changed to a ground level thermal read, teeming with heat signatures moving busily.

The group closed in on the screen.

“What the hell?” Isabel’s eyes scanned the screen, taking in every detail. “Red means hot, right?”

Alex nodded.

“So they’re not human.” Maria’s voice trembled a bit. She’d reluctantly joined the group after Rosa’s rebirth, both terrified and fascinated by the trio and the concept of fucking aliens in general.

Michael huffed a laugh. “Definitely not human.”

Kyle cleared his throat and started to pace the small, dark space. “So what’s the plan?”

As Max opened his mouth, a piercing sound ripped through the bunker, forcing everyone to cover their ears and gasp as the sound tore through their senses.

As soon as it started it seemed to stop. A static came over the screen before it went to black.

“We know what you’re doing.”

The voice was digital, altered to stay anonymous. No one dared to move.

“This is our mission. If you don’t support us, you’re in our way.”

Max moved forward, hand moving almost protectively onto Alex’s shoulder who remained seated in front of the still-black screen.

“We don’t support you killing for fun. What do you want?”

The voice laughed and a chill moved through the room.

“We need your glue. Your center. Your unity. Then we’ll go.”

The images returned to the screen and the static vanished just as quickly.

“What. The fuck. Was that?”

Kyle sounded on the edge of hysterical as he asked the question everyone wondered.

Max shook his head. “I have no idea. Our glue? Like, for your ship?” He looked at Michael who shrugged.

“I doubt it. I don’t use literal glue. I definitely don’t have alien glue.”

“Idiots. It’s metaphorical glue,” Liz said with an eye roll and a swat to Michael’s chest.

“Could they mean a person?”

Everyone looked to Maria who was biting her nails, eyes searching the group. “The center. The unity? That sounds like a person.”

Isabel groaned and sat down on a stool with a dramatic flourish. “Well we all know who that is, right?”

“It’s Liz.”

Michael ran his hand through his hair and walked over to Liz, tapping her lightly under the chin with a small smile.

“She’s Max’s everything. Iz and I need Max, plus we could argue we’re friends. Kyle feels the way he does and Maria and Alex are her best friends.”

Max tucked Liz into his side with a shake of his head. “Maybe not. It could be-“

“Max, c’mon.” Liz offered a small smile and turned to face him. “Mikey’s right. Plus, the lab work. The drugs and the antidote. I have the flowers and the powder. It makes sense.”

Max pulled her in and held her tight to his chest, concerned eyes meeting Kyle’s across the room.

“So what do we do?” Alex stood shakily from his chair, stretching and wincing with the movement.

Michael and Isabel looked at one another, eyebrows raised, chins dropped, lips twisted in a silent argument.

Max shook his head, releasing Liz, clearly understanding what no one else did. “No. Absolutely not!”

“What choice do we have, Max? We can’t let them have her! Who the hell knows what they want or what they’ll do?”

Michael placed his hand on Max’s arm. “We’ll keep her safe. You know we can.”

Max’s chest heaved as he looked at one sibling, then the other.

Kyle let out a sound of protest. “What the hell is going on??”

*****

In the end, they could do no more than hope and pray to the universe.

Isabel looked amazing, with dark hair and a set of plain clothes. She shivered slightly, the ice packs in her pockets to hide her heat making her feel colder than she’d ever been.

Michael and Max were ready to walk her to the field, all three of them well fed with a full nights sleep and a full bottle of acetone each.

The humans of the group were staying with the vehicles, Alex and Maria carrying in case it all became a shit show. Rosa had decided to stay away; the idea of more aliens just too overwhelming.

Max and Liz had a quiet moment, whispered promises and tears wiped away. Isabel kept stealing glances at a flustered and overwhelmed Maria.

Alex found Michael standing away from the group, looking up at the star-filled sky.

“Private,” Michael drawled without moving.

“Please don’t do this.”

Michael looked at Alex and his world lost its balance at the fear in Alex’s face and the tears in his eyes.

Michael shook his head, searching for words, but Alex pulled him closer by his jacket and closed his eyes tight.

“Please, Michael. This feels wrong. We-we have no idea who we’re facing or what they can do. Just, we need more time.”

Michael smiled and leaned forward to rest his head against Alex’s. “You’ve got shit timing, Private.”

Alex tried to laugh but it sounded too broken to count.

“Alex. We have to do this. They can’t keep killing and we need Liz safe. We have to try.”

Alex shook his head but Michael stepped away. He knew if he stayed too close to Alex for too long he’d lose his resolve and be driving away from this mess in no time at all.

“I have to go.”

“Michael, wait-“

But Michael walked off, eyes focused on his siblings in front of him, determined to finally do the right thing.

The three stood together, facing the field, nerves radiating from them all.

With a deep breath and a fake smile, Isabel asked, “ready?”

Max nodded. “Ready.”

Michael nodded. “Ready.”

“Love you, assholes.”

Laughing, they walked into the unknown together.

*****

At the cars, Kyle paced and chewed his nails until they bled. Maria was holding Liz in the back of the Jeep, rocking slightly and humming a lullaby her mom used to sing.

Alex stood frozen, gun in hand, staring at the field ahead.

It was a clear, quiet night, just as lovely as the day had been. He could see a few yards ahead but nowhere near the distance the siblings inevitably were now.

“How long should this take?”

Alex shook his head at Kyle, eyes never leaving the field. “No idea. I’m not even sure what their whole plan was.”

They stood in silence, waiting for the moment they saw three figures walking back to them.

What they got instead was an explosion with a fireball rising to the sky.

“Oh my God!” Liz flew out of the car as Alex started running as quickly as he could toward the blast.

He wanted no one hurt or worse but only one name matched his rhythm.

Michael. Michael. Michael.

He could tell his friends were behind him, heard their raged breathing in his ears, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t look back.

As they crested a small hill, he found the three in a battle against a group of around ten. Alex held his gun and pulled the trigger, feeling Maria at his side doing the same.

Two of the strangers dropped and Alex aimed again.

“Get her out of here, Kyle!” Max’s scream echoed through the night.

It caught their enemies attention, who now looked toward the hill where the humans stood.

“No!”

Michael pulled three back, throwing them into a wire fence, in time for Max to electrify it.

“Kyle, take Liz back to the cars!”

Alex moved down into the field, eyes on Isabel who was squaring off with a man twice her size. Before he could come close, she had the alien on his stomach, unconscious.

“Ahhh!”

Alex looked toward Michael who was being tackled to the ground.

He shot one in the back before his gun became a bird in front of his eyes, flying away from the chaos.

Alex watched in awe as it’s white wings fluttered effortlessly, lifting its small body higher and further away.

“Alex, move!”

Michael’s voice pulled Alex from his trance but he couldn’t. He called every muscle to move: his leg, foot, a toe, his arm, anything.

He looked to Michael with terror and Michael stared back, eyes horrified and wild.

“Alex, move!”

He tried to speak but found that impossible as well.

In his peripheral vision, Alex watched as a bright light began surrounding him, warm and shockingly comforting.

Michael, pinned to the ground, realized their mistake too late. The glue, the center, the unity, was never Liz.

It was Alex who helped Max with data and shared his love of literature.

It was Alex who had wine nights with Isabel and taught her self-defense moves on the weekends.

It was Alex who was the best friend he could be to Maria, Liz and Kyle, always there with food, a smile, a hug, a bad joke.

It was Alex who meant the world to Michael.

And it was Alex who was currently being taken away to another world without Michael.

“Thank you,” one of the strangers offered in a tired, almost kind voice. “He’ll be home when we’re done.”

Michael shook his head, unable to do more than whisper Alex’s name into the night.

He swallowed and tried again. “Please. Please don’t take him from me.”

The alien smiled and took Alex’s hand in theirs.

“He’ll be back.”

A blinding light and a piercing screatch filled the air. The silence that followed hurt more.

Michael laid on his back, staring into the sky, unable to move in his shock.

A tear dropped down his cheek and his breath came in unsatisfying gasps.

“Come back.”

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #prompts #im on mobile so i cant hide it #sorry #long post #unedited #my fic #thank you for the prompt #sorry its so late

[adenhamcreations]

WIP Questions!

Tagged by the awesome @fatal-blow! Thanks so much! This one really got me thinking deeply about my characters.

Under the cut since it’s 20 questions and kinda long.  :) 

1: Describe the plot in one sentence

A fresh out of high school girl discovers that she has the supernatural ability to erase memories and is blackmailed into starting a shady business using them. 

2: Pick one sight, smell, sound, feel, and taste to describe the aesthetic for your WIP.

Sight: A small, familiar childhood town. Little businesses lined up in the center, with residential areas sprawling from them. 

Smell: The smell of burning paper.

Sound: The voice of an old friend echoing through your head.

Feel: A person’s skin that you know well.

Taste: Bitterness from unspoken words. 

3: Which 3+ songs would make a playlist for your novel?

Yellowcard - “Paper Walls.”  Anberlin - “Paperthin Hymn.” Panic at the Disco - “House of Memories.” 

4: What’s the time period and location in which your novel takes place?

Present day, a small town in Alabama (name pending).  

5: Are there any former titles you’ve considered but discarded?

Not at all. It’s always been Sin Eater. 

6: What’s the first line of your novel?

“The first time I knew something was wrong with me was when I was eighteen.”

7: What’s a line of dialogue you’re particularly proud of?

A little long, but I really enjoyed writing this particular chapter/conversation:

“Sorry, thanks. I guess it can be hard not to get a little lost in the memories. I know that’s probably silly,” he chuckles bashfully. “No,” I shake my head quickly. “It makes perfect sense to me.” We come to another clearing. The grass is lush and tall here, an ocean of green. It scrapes the bottom of Aiden’s Jeep as we drive over it. The spot he stops at is another lovely view: you can see for miles. The city’s lights look like tiny dots from here. They must be switching on since the sun is going down. “This is really pretty,” I say as we exit the Jeep.“Yeah, it’s a little secret spot that I found. At least I think it’s a secret, since I’ve never seen anyone up here.” “Well, I like it.”“Yeah? I thought it might be kind of lame compared to the epic sunset yesterday.”“No way. I never did this kind of stuff growing up,” I admit. “You missed out,” he says, grinning. “Amber and I always liked exploring. We called them our ‘Adventures.’”“That….is freakin’ adorable,” I grin back. “Amber came up with it. She said it felt like we found stuff that nobody else ever did.” Aiden picks up a stick and throws it over the edge. We watch it but don’t see where it lands. “That probably wasn’t true, but as a kid...it feels like the whole world is yours, you know?”“I definitely understand that.”

8: Which line from the novel most represents it as a whole?

“I will face everything that I’ve been avoiding and move on with my life, no matter how hard or painful, no matter what comes my way.”

9: Who are your character(s) face claims?

I’m not sure I quite understand this question. Does it mean what we based our characters’ looks on?  If so: Probably a mix of people I know, to be honest. For instance, I had crushes on a lot of guys with brown hair and brown eyes back in high school, so Parker being Jayde’s high school crush, that’s how he looks. I also wanted Jayde and Jenny to look a little bit opposite of each other, so I based their looks on that criteria. 

10: Sort your characters into Hogwarts houses

I actually know NOTHING about Harry Potter... XD 

11: Which character’s name do you like the most?

I loved the name Aiden and just had to use it... and after I picked it, one of my best friends named their son that (only spelled differently)! She didn’t even know about my book yet. Meant to be. 

12: Describe each character’s daily outfit

Jayde - She likes skirts and wears them frequently, even in the winter I’ve drawn her a lot in jean skirts, because I used to wear them back in high school. To top it off, maybe a V-neck shirt in some bright color, I’d say yellow.

Jenny - Jeans too long for her legs, a hoodie if it’s cold. A t-shirt if it’s hot. She isn’t into showing off her skin or body.

Parker- A nice polo with stripes, ironed jeans and super clean tennis shoes.

Aiden - Nothing too flashy - A t-shirt and jeans, usually torn or with mud, oil, or some other stain on them.

Amber - Tank top and capris.

13: Do any characters have any distinctive birthmarks/scars?

Amber has a nasty scar on her right shoulder from her father. 

14: Which character most fits a character trope?

Probably Aiden. He’s the classic guy with a dark past who hides it with sarcasm and general jerkiness. 

15: Which character is the best writer? Worst?

I haven’t thought much of it, but i’d like to imagine that Jenny is the best writer. She’s quiet, but she’s also wise. Her recovery through her lost memories made her strong, capable, and unafraid. i could see her writing an amazing book about that.  As for the worst... maybe Amber? I don’t see her enjoying sitting at a desk typing away or writing in a notebook.

16: Which character is the best liar? Worst?

Jayde is the best liar. She becomes practiced at it due to her secretive job and when she’s hiding her true feelings from Jenny and Parker throughout the book. Amber is definitely the worst liar. She’s usually too honest and unafraid to say what she’s thinking.

17: Which character swears the most? Least?

Aiden definitely swears the most. Meanwhile, Jayde’s two best friends, Jenny and Parker, rarely do (probably due to their strict upbringings). 

18: Which character has the best writing? Worst?

Jayde may by default just because she’s my main character and gets the most spotlight. Not sure about the worst. 

19: Which character is the most like you? Least like you?

I think a mix of Jayde and Aiden are most like me. Jayde in the beginning was my younger self - not a care in the world, loved attention, was loud and silly and loved to laugh. But as she ages and reality hits, she becomes more somber and shy. She isn’t as boisterous and tries to accept herself as she is now (which I’ve had issues with). As for Aiden, he hides hurt and hard times by using jokes and a sunny attitude, which I’ve done so much before. As for least like me, I’d have to go with Vivian, Jenny’s (Jayde’s best friend) mother. She’s tightly wound and is usually passive aggressive towards everyone. She also can’t accept her daughter for being bisexual, which I couldn’t ever understand feeling that way. She tends to think she’s of a higher social standing than everyone else and wants her family to “look” a certain way to everyone outside. 

20: Which character would you most like to be?

They all kind of have sad backstories, so I don’t think I’d want to BE them necessarily. But I’d most want to be more like my OC Amber. She has a lot of crap happen to her and is silently strong in many ways. She accepts what happened to her, isn’t ashamed of it, but also doesn’t pity herself. She takes kickboxing to become physically stronger so the same thing won’t happen to her in the future, and she’s still trusting and open to making new friends. 

Tagging for my babes on my Sin Eater WIP tag: @metaphors-and-melodrama @snowdropwrites @drist-n-dither @jeeanmoreau

And any others! I wanted to tag some new followers too so that they can join the fun.  :)  @artsyclusterfuck @lgbtqiauthor @the-real-rg @agent-me @ren-c-leyn @jeteveux-siempre @toboldlywrite @jessawriter

#wip #sin eater #tag #wip questions #writeblr #writer #characters #ocs #sin eater book

[souloben]

self defense [stiles stilinski]

Word count - 1889. It’s a long one!

  ❝ all we do is drive, all we do is think about the feelings that we hide. ❞

Y/N folded her arms, almost to defend her own actions against the lyrics of the song that played from the jeep's radio at a dulled volume. The sounds of Stiles tinkering with the broken down jeep could be heard even from the passenger's seat, and he seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated with the vehicle.

 ❝ all we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign.  ❞  

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the lyrics resonating with her all too well. It was true, Y/N and Stiles both shared feelings for one another, a fact that was made all the more clear when she kissed him to stop his panic attack a few years before. However, it seemed that no matter how strong their feelings were for each other, an obstacle was always put in the way of their budding relationship.

For the first few years, it was always courage. Y/N was completely terrified of admitting she was in love with Stiles, and vice versa. She was quite a doubtful person, doubtful of herself and people she knew. She expected the worst type of reaction from Stiles if she confessed, no matter the fact that he was possibly the most understanding boy she knew. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, it was just the constant, overwhelming fear of rejection from someone she cared so deeply about.

The next metaphorical obstacle was, of course, Stiles's girlfriend Malia Tate. Y/N was at first incredibly upset when he and the were-coyote first started dating, but grew to hide her feelings around them and get used to the issue. Still, she couldn't help painful pangs of jealousy hit her whenever they shared a moment of affection in front of the pack. Stiles had told her that they'd apparently broken it off, although he refrained from speaking about it in detail.

Deeply lost in her own thoughts, Y/N leaned her cheek against the cool glass of the window, blissfully unaware of what was going on outside until she heard a pained scream. The sound echoed throughout her brain, breaking her from her dream-like state. "Stiles?" She called, her voice edged with panic.

Swinging open the jeep door and heading out into the dimly lit road, her first sight was the boy in question, struggling to break free from somebody's grasp. She recognized the guy as Donovan, somebody Stiles had mentioned as being troublesome. He was apparently a Chimera, and a dangerous one at that.

Running over to Stiles practically at the speed of light, Y/N struggled to think of how to help him. Her brain scanned through different scenarios, and she mentally slapped herself for not bringing any sort of defense, not even a bat.

Stiles seemed to be reaching for something as he struggled to break free from Donovan's grasp, and Y/N grabbed the silver wrench that lay on the hood of the jeep. Not thinking straight and desperate to help Stiles, she hit Donovan in the back of the head with the wrench using all the strength she had in her arms. Stunned, he fell backwards and collapsed on the ground, seemingly and hopefully unconscious.

There was a brief moment where Y/N and Stiles caught each other's gaze and simply looked at each other, panting from the events of a minute ago, and then he grabbed her hand and started running towards the school.

As they entered the dark school hallway, Y/N couldn't help glancing behind her, something she regretted as Donovan came into view behind them both. Chills ran down her spine and she struggled to keep running. Stiles felt the same, but he looked intent on getting away from the chimera.

They finally reached the library door, one that required a pass to enter. Stiles retrieved his own one from his pocket, and slid the card into the slot on the door, his hands shaking violently. Y/N stood behind him, the fear running through her increasing when Donovan came close to them. He finally managed to open the library door, and the two of them managed to hurry into the large room with Donovan still on their tail.

Stiles pulled Y/N into a small corner behind some bookshelves, both of them struggling to quieten their fast breathing as the chimera entered the room. Stiles instinctively pulled Y/N against his chest protectively, neither of them thinking twice about the action.

The vibration of Stiles's forgotten phone made them both jump, encouraging a chuckle from Donovan, confirming he knew where they were hiding. "You dropped your phone." Came a voice, an unfamiliar one, one who's tone was forever tainted with malice no matter what the situation. One that was void of emotion other than undeniable hatred and anger.

"It's Malia. Should I text her back?" Neither of them replied, although Y/N exhaled shakily, the panic from the situation threatening to overtake her. "You two really don't know who I am, do you?" Donovan questioned, every word he spoke sending never ending chills down both their spines.

"I assume you heard about my father, Stiles." The boy tensed as the chimera directed his words at him. "Did your dad tell you about him? Did Sheriff Stilinski ever tell you about the time he was still a deputy and his partner got caught in a shoot-out?" His voice was now spiked with disgust as he edged closer to Y/N and Stiles.

"Did he ever tell you that a bullet shattered my dad's T-9 Vertebra? Went right through his spinal cord? D'you know what that means?" His voice was on the verge of yelling now. "It means everything below his waist is useless. I bet he told you some of it. But I bet he probably left out the part where he was sitting in a car calling for backup while my dad was going in alone. Did he tell you that he was too scared, too much of a frightened little bitch to go in after him?" He paused then, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"Or do scared little bitches not tell their little bitch sons about their failures? About how they put their partner in a wheelchair for the rest of his life?" Y/N squeezed Stiles's hand as she looked up to see his eyes flash with rage. For a couple of unbearable minutes, there was silence. The only sound that could be heard was what seemed like Donovan's retreating footsteps. The two of them almost breathed a sigh of relief, but of course the the thought of the chimera leaving at just a rant about his father proved to be short lived.

In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, Donovan leapt forward through the half filled bookshelf, grabbing Stiles. The two of them struggled on the ground while Y/N used the precious seconds she had to find the wrench and protect Stiles in some way. Donovan threw Stiles across the room, the sounds of the action going on behind Y/N distracting her. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed the wrench and ran back towards the two of them.

By that time, Stiles was beginning to climb up the red scaffolding and Donovan close behind. Her heart was pounding faster than it ever had before as she knew that if she didn't time this right, something drastic would happen. "Don't worry Stiles, I'm not to kill you." He hissed, taking hold of Stiles's legs as he reached up for some kind of handle. "I'm going to eat your legs." His voice was distorted and demonic, a tone that struck cold and undeniable fear in Y/N's heart.

Desperate, Stiles reached upwards and managed to grasp the lever that held up the long metal bars. As he grabbed it, the bars tumbled down the scaffolding. Y/N was inches away from swinging the wrench at Donovan's head, but froze in shock at the sight that met her eyes. One of the metal bars had gone right through the chimera's stomach, and silver blood started to drip from his wound. Stiles climbed down from the scaffolding, his stomach dropping when he saw Donovan.

The two of them stared at the dying boy, too terrified and conflicted to react properly. Stiles, eyes glazed with tears and horror, took hold of the metal bar and attempted to pull it out of Donovan's stomach. He stopped as a final gasp escaped from Donovan's pale lips. His neck rotated awkwardly as the life left his eyes, blood running freely.

Y/N and Stiles waited anxiously in the jeep as the sheriff's patrol truck arrived at the parking lot, watching as a deputy walks into the school. Trying to steady her breathing with no avail, she placed a hand on Stiles's shoulder. He couldn't control his hands as they twitched and shook to no end. He tapped the steering wheel quickly, his breathing fast and unsteady. "Stiles. You have to know-it was self defense.  You didn't do anything wrong." She told him, trying to ignore the deputy and the sirens going off at full volume and instead keep her gaze on Stiles.

"Listen to me. I was there. I saw it happen, and I know.." She began, her voice trailing off as he looked at her, the panic in his hazel eyes still there. "I can't.." He struggled to find words, and blinked furiously in an attempt to prevent tears from falling. His forehead was dewy with sweat, and he continued the relentless tapping of the steering wheel.

Y/N took a deep breath, wanting so desperately to comfort the boy in his nervous state. "Stiles, just focus on my voice. Okay? Only my voice." She told him, softening her tone. He licked his lips in one quick motion, nodding multiple times. It was in that one moment that Y/N somehow managed to pluck up the courage to tell him how she felt. How she'd always liked him, she'd just never had the bravery to tell him so. That when she kissed him to stop his panic attack, she had to restrain herself from planting her lips onto his every time she saw him afterwards. How he made her feel complete, as if a piece was missing from her heart that only he could fit.

These facts, although how irrelevant they seemed in this particular moment, somehow also fit perfectly. These words she spoke couldn't wash away the guilt and scars that the events of the day left behind, but instead would give them a whole new lease of life as they dealt with it all. And, as he explained how he returned her exact feelings and his brown eyes finally lit up with hope, they both knew that they would never be the same after today.

Except, not just because of Donovan. Because they now, finally, had each other. They finally could hold one another, comfort one another in a way that wasn't simply as friends. The truth was out. And although the previous event was something they weren't going to forget, neither would they forget the love they had for each other. The knowledge that no matter what the other went through, there would always be someone to live through it with them.

#stiles x reader #stiles stilinski #imagines #tw #tw s5 #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf imagines #self reblog

[notesfromthepen]

Million P1us

A Million P1us

They ignore us because they can.

I've been in prison going on seven years now. I started getting serious about writing when I came down. At first it was just about expression; an attempt to hold onto a little bit of freedom in a place otherwise designed to kill such things. A few years in I started writing about the shit that was happening in here. Figured, somebody should do it.

I wrote about corrupt officers, nonsensical policies, the cruelty of solitary confinement, the censorship, corruption, and the dangerous parole process. I wrote about the slave wages and the financial fleecing of inmates and their families. I wrote about the benefits of good time and Michigan's failure to offer positive reinforcement to inmates. I wrote about everything I saw, the ridiculous, hilarious, and serious alike. I wanted to give a full voice to this experience. Something deeper than stereotypes.

And then I realized that none of it mattered if no one was reading it. So I started a Facebook page, well Mama C started a Facebook page. I connected with amazing people, but it was clear Facebook wasn't the best platform. So we took what little money we had and started a website. Mama C, the saint she is, learned how to put it all together. And finally, a few moths ago, we entered the Twitersphere (they should bring back the electric chair, just so they can strap me in for writing Twitersphere). This is where the magic happened (can you be electrocuted twice?). In a few short months I linked up with so many like minded people, interested and passionate about what was going on in here, which inspired me to push even harder. After every new piece, I felt the sense of relief that comes from getting something off your chest. But whenever I'd see something written, or said about prison reform or mass incarceration, this responsibility, almost a guilt, would settle on me. I was getting good at pointing fingers, but I wasn't offering any solutions. I figured I'd try to put everything I knew together in a single, comprehensive, piece about the American prison system— to see if that would get rid of the feeling for good.

I spent months writing this pain-in-the-ass tome and, when it was finally done, I felt genuine relief. Everything I knew about the fiasco of incarceration was distilled down to single, coherent, piece of work. Dare I say, I was even proud? I was proud…but I was even more relieved.

Now it was time to get it in the hands of people who could actually make some change. Prison reform, after all, is the ONE bipartisan issue in the county.

With magnum opus in hand, Mama C tracked down all 110 Michigan State Representatives. She sent them each their own personal copy, along with a plea for the reinstatement of good time, and an open letter offering assistance. Twitter friends & the Facebook family sent links and messages to the Governor's office all the way up to federal lawmakers. There was even this amazing degenerate, who also claimed to be a famous comedian, who took notice. And he helped spread the word.

Not a single politician responded.

If this ex-telemarketer and procrastinating, but excellent author, who claims to know Joe Rogan, can't get any of the powers that be to listen, then what chance do the rest of us have?

ZERO. The answer, as it stands now, is zero.

And then I got to thinking.

I've always had love for the underdog, the oppressed, the voiceless. And now I was one. I wasn't surprised at the inaction I seemed to inspire in the political landscape. More often than not, these "leaders of men" do the RIGHT thing, only as often as it is incidentally attached to what they're FORCED to do.

They IGNORE us because they CAN.

Which got me to thinking more; what if I was IMPOSSIBLE to IGNORE?

At first it was just this funny little day-dreamt hypothetical; what if a currently incarcerated inmate had a MILLION PLUS followers on social media? What would that look like? The possibilities cascaded. It felt like a paradox, an impossibility, a glitch in the matrix—for an inmate to have that power.

The first thing I thought was, the system couldn't allow it. Then I wondered if could they stop it? Sure they'd try, but what could they actually do? Any attempt would likely back fire. It's a 1st amendment issue. The biggest strength we have at the bottom, is how little we have to lose. 

The fact, that this impossibility wasn't actually impossible, was hypnotic. I couldn't stop thinking about it—about what it meant.

Corruption rarely survives the light of day.

An inmate with a Million P1us followers on Twitter, for instance, would be like one of those nanny cams for the prison system. Knowing you're being watched will significantly curb a babysitter's urge to beat a kid into submission. Trust me, the first severe beating of my life was at the hands of a "baby sitter." I was so young I don't remember but Mama C says my whole face was swollen, that I could barely open my eyes. Then again I am half Asian, with baby eyes like slits, you ever think of that mom? Maybe this case of child abuse was just a simple case of racism. In any case, if ol' Rocky Marciano (he was Italian) had known there was a camera, he might've just let me cry myself to sleep without out the vigorous use of the five-fingered sleep aids.

Over share?

The point is, that without the ability to covertly fuck us over, they'd be forced to stop fucking us over, or at least cut back significantly. Politicians could no longer simply throw us away and ignore our pleas without repercussion. They could no longer anonymously give contracts to these abusive corporations who price gouge the hell out of us, while filling their campaign coffers—at least not without a Million P1us witnesses. From the lawmakers down to individual employees, they'd finally be forced to practice what they've been hypocritically preaching for decades: Personal Accountability.

It was fun to think about, but I wasn't actually going to do it. It was just something to think about during the commercial breaks of Rick & Morty. Just another game of "What If?"

Right?

My mischievous side disagreed; it absolutely loved the idea—wouldn’t let it go.

I'd be trying to watch TV and it'd chime in with shit like, "Why not? What are you scared of?" And the little bastard wouldn't shut up about Kim Kardashian. Kim this, and Kim that. "Kim snaps her fingers and people walk out of prison."

I did my best to remind my mischievous side that I'm not Kim Kardashian.

It reminded me I'm more of a Courtney anyway. And that Snooki, Guy Ferari, and half the cast of The Real Housewives all have a million plus followers.

I wondered how my mischievous side knew this but I didn't.

It said, "The whole point of prison is to silence us. Why not grab a megaphone and be louder than we've ever been? Ariana Grande:67 mil, Justin Beiber: 107 million followers on Twitter."

It was a good point.

"Ralphie May, Channel West Coast, Grumpy Cat..."

I don't know how accurate the research was.

All I'm trying to do is take a shit when I hear the subtlest voice say, "We've been waiting for this our entire lives. We are literally MADE for this. The ultimate thorn in the side of authority—of oppressive, corrupt, authority! An epic middle finger to the entire system."

The constant interruptions are starting to get to me but at this point I'm still unsure.

And then my mischievous side, that rebellious little bastard, says something undeniable, something it knows will kill every excuse I could ever muster. Slowly, fully aware of what it's doing, it says, "J-E-R-E-M-Y R-E-N-N-E-R has FIVE MILLION followers!"

And just like that, I'm in. My mischievous side wins for the first time in a long time.

I tell myself, if all these people have figured out how to get a million plus people to follow them, just so they can sell spanks, talk about their next hair color, or just BE a displeased cat, then what kind of coward would I be not to take a shot. Even if it's an air ball, or whatever clunky sports metaphor you'd prefer, if it means the chance to expose corruption & abuse, the government waste, inhumane practices, family separations, and the mass incarceration of those with mental illness, addicts, black, brown, and poor white people, not to mention the chance to knock Jeremy Renner off his high horse, and make the occasional poop joke...then I have to try.

I mean why can't it be done?

If we can rally enough rebels & misfits, the bleeding heart liberals and the stone cold conservatives alike, these conscientious men and women, Millennials, Baby Boomers & Gen-X'ers, to take a few seconds to tune in, then we'll have done something that has never been done before.

We'll have created a blueprint for other inmates and underdogs to fight for change, to show that redemption is real and that you can affect the world around you, even if you're actively being stepped on, if you work hard enough, think outside the box, and reach out to a few friends, who reach out to a few friends, and so on and so on until you become impossible to ignore.

Plus it would be hilarious, for politicians to have to take into consideration the opinion of a convict they'd all but thrown away...And most important of all: to stop Jeremy Renner from using Jeep commercials to force us to listen to his shitty band.

The goal is to get to a #Million P1us followers before I'm released. Which, if nothing changes, gives us 'til 2025.

We can do it.

In a world of click bait and countless distractions, this FOLLOW and SHARE can be your little contribution to prison reform and ending mass incarceration, a small, but not meaningless, drop in the bucket that gives you something to pat yourself on the back about. I'll take it. Or maybe you're just a rebel who's looking for another middle finger to stick in the air. Maybe you're a troll that thinks it'd be hilarious. Or maybe you're just tired of the same old meaningless bullshit on the news, Twitter, and social media in general. Whatever your reason, you'll be a part of giving a MDOC inmate a REAL chance at grabbing the world by the ear, and letting it know what's actually going on in here.

You already know I can't do this alone. If successful, this will be OUR achievement. Anyone who throws in will be a part of this absurd and exciting movement, and together we'll loom larger than we do alone.

I hope you're in.

We can't live in a world where Grumpy Cat has 1.6 million TWITTER followers, and Jeremy Renner is strutting around like he's the cock of the roost —but a convict on the forefront of the ONLY bipartisan issue of prison reform, with a saint for a mother, an amazing group of friends, and a real penchant for subversive, often ridiculous, writing— can't muster up Million P1us people to pay attention. Whatever God you believe in will not likely spare such a world for too long.

Ok, so: inspiration, outright begging, guilt tripping and fear mongering; ticked all the boxes.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention; most important of all; it's actually a really GOOD Twitter account, on its own, regardless of it being about some convict writer.

So there's that as well.

Please link, share, mention, follow, or whatever you think would help. You already know groups and people that I'd never think of who'd be worth reaching out to. Oh, and CONTACT me...I want to know who you are, and what you think. I'm serious about this being OUR project.

Your friendly neighborhood convict, Bobby C. 

'til next time, appreciate the small things...even the annoying ones.

#MillionP1us

[dadwizardinadress-blog]

Can Life Really Just Be Sweet?

I’m overwhelmed, you guys. In the best way.

So many voices in my head telling me it’s all a joke. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, all that.

...but what if life is just really nice sometimes?

So often I scratch until there’s a cut. Prophecies self-fulfilled.

What if the battle of now is that now there’s no battle?

And the best way to be prepared for disaster is to just be present and love the day?

Really not used to stability. The rug always comes out from underneath somehow. And every time it does, I feel so suckerpunched that I always think, “Next time I’ll be ready.”

But will that readiness even help? Or will it just create more anxiety?

Can I trust that I’ll have grace under pressure and I don’t need to know where all the fire exits are all the time?

Crazy people think they’re perfectly sane. But that doesn’t mean that if you think you’re sane, you’re crazy. Rectangles & squares, etc.

Maybe the punk rock healthy spiritual badass thing to do is to have a nice day. 

I’m so afraid of denial, of disillusionment. I see so many people in my life repress their issues. 

And I take great pride in being able to wade through the dark, muddy waters of truth and reality.

But at what cost? Is there a point of diminishing returns?

Definitely. 

Can the water just be like a nice pool with your friends sometime?

Yes.

Can we be incomplete and in progress and also as we are enough?

Yes. 

Can we be moving forward but also be fulfilled in every moment?

Yes.

I feel like I live my whole life with autocorrect on. And that just drains the battery (not sure if it actually does this on iOS or anything but you get the metaphor).

Like clutching the red pen and getting hand cramps.

It’s like, yo, put down the pen man.

Trust in yourself.

Trust that you’ve grown.

Trust that when you need to pop the hood, you will.

But you can’t stay in the body shop. 

Road trip, ya dang fool.

Vegas, baby!!!

I think a lot about developmental years. And how we grow accustomed to whatever level of stability or intimacy we grow up in.

There’s that whole monkey experiment with the two mom’s, one that feeds but doesn’t hold the monkey, and one that holds but doesn’t feed and is also made of thorns or something, and the baby monkey always took the abuse. Because that’s how important it is to be held. Even when it’s killing us. (Not sure if these are the exact details of the study, but that was def my takeaway).

So we cling to these definitions and these standards. We cling to the armor that shielded us from monsters under the bed. But now we have blisters and welts from two sizes too small. 

It’s time to upgrade our gear, damnit. Like a videogame. Your lowlevel fireball spell could handle blasting sewer rats in level one, but this is level ten, bro. That shit will not cut it. It’s time to get a fire rain spell or some shit. Once again, you get the metaphor!!

And I think it’s easy to hate that lowlevel spell. Hate it for not killing the ogres or trolls on level ten. But that shit got us through level one when we had nothing else. It’s hard to be grateful and also move on. Be like, “Yo, this served me at a time when I was most vulnerable, but it’s time for a mf fire rain spell.”

And the devil you know thing. Seeking relationships that confirm our deep rooted opinions of ourselves established at an early age. Are we allowed to set higher standards for ourselves? YES.

It’s so damn hard to let go of that thorny crowned mother. What if we’re alone? What if that’s as good as it gets? Lies. All lies meant to keep you in the cycle of abuse. That’s what the devil wants, man. To convince you you’re not worthy of more or that this is all it ever is.

You can take the leap of faith. Trust that there are an abundance of rad peeps out there. Rad peeps that are waiting to refuge in you like you’re waiting to take refuge in them. And we can forge new families. Let people into the inner sanctums of our hearts who see us for all we are and all we can be. People who forgive us, hold us up, and give us space to be our whole selves. People who are kind, good, curious, inspired, and generous.

When we die, there will be a stack of books we didn’t get to. A ton of shit it our Netflix Queue’s. Unheard albums saved on Spotify. Emails we never responded to. People we never got coffee with. We’ll be desperate for just another moment with any member of our tribe.

So if there’s not enough time for the rad peeps, how the hell can we justify time with vampires? And maybe it’s not that cut and dry. Maybe it’s more insidious. Maybe it’s someone who you identify with, who’s wounds you feel as your own, who gives you that connection you’re looking for, but maybe only when it’s convenient for them. Maybe that’s the crushing heartbreak - a decay that’s ever so slight. 

Or maybe it’s someone who won’t pop the hood with you. Get the jeep up and running again. 

Maybe it’s time you downgrade the car? Like - yo me and this person ride the metro together. When it breaks down, we go our separate ways. When it’s up and running, we talk about tv and food. But we don’t go underneath. And maybe if you try to, they get defensive, and throw it all in your face. And you’re standing there, soaking wet, wondering why you had to take it there and why you ruined it. 

It’s okay to know what to expect from people. It doesn’t have to be depressing. This is what boundaries are for. It also lets you know who isn’t in the inner sanctum. And that’s for the best. You guys maybe just have nothing to offer each other. Even if you once did. Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe they have. It’s okay to let go and let something else grow. Or just walk away entirely. Because there are people out there who will pick you up from the airport. There are people out there who will listen to you cry. There are people out there who will give you there french fries. There are people out there who will lend you their cool shoes. There are people out there who care about you. I promise. 

And it’s scary to cut ties or set boundaries, but can’t afford not to.

Even now!!! I set out to write a post about how I’m stoked on the world right now and I’ve vomited some wanna-be self help wake up call.

Friends are good.

Last night I had Mexican food with my three best friends and we talked about cheese and butts. The dream.

What if...what if that’s all there was to it?

Just nice people taking care of one another, trying to enjoy their days and live in fullness. Nothing more.

What if you were enough as you are?

What if you didn’t have to change all those things about yourself that you’ve been meaning to?

What if you’re good?

What if you can open you’re whole heart and be having a casually great time?

What if you can be doing nothing and be having a super connected experience?

Obviously, there will be a few shark attacks. And you’ll be ready. But in between, don’t seals just like chill on rocks with their friends all day? Isn’t that like 90% of their lives?

Seals, man. What if we’re all just fucking seals.