sitting with discomfort


“As a child of divorce, I am endlessly fascinated with finding the perfect formula for making it work, but I think the biggest lesson I learned is that there aren’t any rules. [As Indian guru Osho said,] ‘Love never becomes wise, and that is its wisdom.’ Sit with the discomfort. Don’t run away from it. Lean into it, take your time with it. So many people jump into things just because they can’t stand the discomfort of not knowing.” -Emma Watson

The People Vs O.J. Simpson

Last night, I watched the first episode of AMERICAN CRIME STORY: THE PEOPLE VS O.J. SIMPSON. I think it’s the most important thing I’ll see all year.

I’ll get the surface admiration out of the way. First, I think it’s extremely well-produced. Rich cinematography. Almost uniformly masterful performances. It’s a suspenseful take on perhaps the most famous criminal case of all time, and that feels nearly miraculous to me.

But I also admire it on deeper levels. Thus far, the show has a rare sense of compassion for Mr. Simpson. He’s not purely the monster, the tyrant-buffoon, the privileged narcissist–and, yes, the slick, black boogeyman–he so often has been portrayed to be. He’s a man: a father, friend, ex-husband, and son going through the worst nightmare of his life. Cuba Gooding, Jr., is giving his best performance since JERRY MAGUIRE.

And yet that compassion is not at all at odds with the fact of the matter: If you study the case in any substantial way (and I have) and can go beyond the ideological and sociology-driven knee-jerks that might tempt us, it’s hard to come to any conclusion except that Mr. Simpson was responsible for the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman.

Why was he acquitted? It’s easy to say “Because of race,” and a lesser show might have gone for that low-hanging fruit, but it’s perhaps not entirely accurate (although one African-American juror, when asked why she voted to acquit, replied, “We have to take care of our own”). In my opinion, Mr. Simpson was acquitted because he had a ruthlessly brilliant defense team, and faced a bumbling prosecution, and because the LAPD was an insidiously corrupt force that, to many, deserved humiliation.

The show does a fine job of contextualizing the Simpson case, which took place when the Rodney King verdict and riots were still fresh wounds. And here is the thing: It is impossible to watch that footage and not think, Ferguson. Baltimore. Now.

Which is why I think AMERICAN CRIME STORY: THE PEOPLE VS O.J. SIMPSON is the most important show of 2016: In its own way, it is invoking Rodney King’s cry for us to turn away from the instinct to generalize, hate, and violate out of rage. It is asking us to look into the soul of a man we’ve come to loathe, to see him again as something other than a cartoon, something other than a symbol and shorthand for so many perspectives of our racially-torn society. I feel comfortable saying unequivocally that Mr. Simpson is a murderer; it simply would have been impossible for the police, however racist, to do the things the defense claimed they did. Yet while there is no excuse for his actions, whatever happened that night was clearly the worst moment of Mr. Simpson’s life. And my heart and my faith will not allow me to see that for anything other than what it is: an act of evil, yes, but also a soul-shaking tragedy.

We live in a time of two extremes: We’re acknowledging more and more that racial inequity exists, and we’re becoming, it seems, less and less willing to examine it with the complexity it deserves. We continue to stereotype one another; we continue to react against the stereotypes; we continue to perpetuate the dreadful cycles that threaten to doom us.

AMERICAN CRIME STORY asks us to sit with our discomfort for an hour every week. It asks us to reexamine our certainties, and it does this by showing what I think for many will be one of the most startling facts about the case: O.J. Simpson is human. By now, we in America have examined the Simpson case and trial so much that we all know how it happened (or think we do). AMERICAN CRIME STORY wants us to ask why: why Mr. Simpson likely did it, why the verdict of a simple double-murder still means so much, and why the show itself will no doubt enrage people on both sides.

For me, this is one of the great acts of storytelling courage in recent memory. It is also a message we all so desperately need to hear.

I’ve been having a very difficult time lately. 

I have always known that this world is not a safe space for me, as a woman of color who doesn’t identify as heterosexual, despite being in heterosexual relationships predominantly, but recently it’s really hitting me that even the spaces I have carved out for myself aren’t safe. I’m still surrounded by people who are either silent {and thus, complicit}, or think that just tolerating black and brown people in their white spaces means they are allies against racism, or people who swear they understand and are against cultural appropriation, yet still promote and support LuLaRoe. {I have so many things against LLR, it is my constant example for shit business, because it is the epitome of shit business.}

And that’s really why I haven’t been here. At first, it was because I was completely surprised by learning just how many people I followed, and who followed me, voted for, and support, Trump and his policies. Then the women’s march - I found people who never spoke a word of injustice before it came knocking on their door in the throngs of exclusive pink pussy hats, and I wanted to be excited to see them fighting but all I could muster was an ungrateful: “Where the hell have you been?” and more importantly “Where the hell are you now?”

I’m tired of dealing with people who tell me that they don’t think what they’re doing or saying, contributes to racism because they have black and brown friends. I’m tired of dealing with people who don’t realize the complete disconnect between being “pro-life” while demanding that abortions be criminalized, or want to bar support to organizations that provide safe abortions, necessary abortions. Pro whose life? Who cares for the baby when it gets here if you cut medical coverage, if you cut government support, if you fail to make education accessible and bitch about McDonald’s employees making a living wage? I’m tired of dealing with people who refuse to sit in discomfort to unpack their biases - being wrong sucks, unlearning is hard, do it anyway. I’m tired of anyone who thinks “privilege” is just a buzzword. Dealing with these people has depleted me, physically and spiritually.

I follow over a thousand people, and have over eight thousand followers, here. I’m not the type of person who says what everyone wants to hear, what makes everyone comfortable, and in doing so elsewhere I’ve cleared out many people including family and friends I’ve known for decades. It’s time for me to do that here, because this is more than “agreeing to disagree”, this is more than “letting politics come between friendship”, this is real life for black and brown people, it’s real life non binary people, it’s real life for everyone on the LGBTQIAP spectrum, it’s real life for poor people, it’s real life for disabled people, and if you can’t see further than your own nose to recognize what these people live through every day, you have no business being here.

Edited to correct a typo and say: I’ll be unfollowing, I’m sure, many people, and hope you will give me the same respect and unfollow me as well. I don’t want these kinds of people in my spaces, and that’s the end of it.


“As a child of divorce, I am endlessly fascinated with finding the perfect formula for making it work. But I think the biggest lesson I learned is that there aren’t any rules. [As Indian guru Osho said,] ‘Love never becomes wise, and that is its wisdom.’ Sit with the discomfort. Don’t run away from it. Lean into it, take your time with it. So many people jump into things just because they can’t stand the discomfort of not knowing.”

When we touch the center of sorrow, when we sit with discomfort without trying to fix it, when we stay present to the pain of disapproval or betrayal and let it soften us, these are times that we connect with bodhichitta.
—  Pema Chödrön
Dear White People, Your Safety Pins Are Embarrassing
We don’t get to make ourselves feel better by putting on safety pins and self-designating ourselves as allies.

Let me explain something, white people: We just fucked up. Bad. We elected a racist demagogue who has promised to do serious harm to almost every person who isn’t a straight white male, and whose rhetoric has already stirred up hate crimes nationwide. White people were 70% of the voters in the 2016 election, and we’re the only demographic Trump won. It doesn’t matter why. What matters is there’s a white nationalist moving into the Oval Office, and white people — only white people — put him there.

We don’t get to make ourselves feel better by putting on safety pins and self-designating ourselves as allies.

And make no mistake, that’s what the safety pins are for. Making White people feel better. They’ll do little or nothing to reassure the marginalized populations they are allegedly there to reassure; marginalized people know full well the long history of white people calling themselves allies while doing nothing to help, or even inflicting harm on, non-white Americans.

… If you really need some way to show your support, if you just can’t bear to sit in your discomfort for even a little bit longer, here’s my suggestion: Instead of doing the thing white people invented to make ourselves feel better, follow the example of the people from the marginalized communities you want to support.

There are better, more active ways of showing support to marginalized communities. Volunteer, donate, get in touch and get involved! 

Forewarned is forearmed

So, for most of my life, I have been terrified of Gremlins.

Y’know, the 1984 movie. (And its eventual sequel.)

And I mean terrified. I mean triggered. I’m not being cutesy about it. I mean panic attacks and an inability to sleep, sometimes for days. Heart-racing, stomach-churning terror coursing through me.

And then I was introduced to the wonders of Cognitive Behavior Therapy and, specifically, exposure therapy. It’s just what it sounds like: you expose yourself to the trigger and sit with the discomfort, working on calming yourself down the whole while. I don’t think it’d work for everything, but PRAISE BE TO CHAOS, it fucking worked for this.

I have to “re-up it” every so often, and I can’t really say I’m “over” my Gremlins phobia. But I can deal with it now.

AND IT’S A GOOD FUCKING THING, TOO!! Because GUESS WHO HAS GREMLINS BACK ON THEIR INSANELY POPULAR STREAMING SERVICE? You don’t have to guess, it’s Netflix. I always thought Netflix used the movie posters for the little link boxes on the main page of their listings.

Turns out I am mistaken.

(Under cut for those who, like me, would rather not look at those creepy-ass monster puppets.)

Keep reading

The Crown weighs heavy (Ch.2)

Negan x Reader Rated: M Chapters: 2/?

A/N: Hey, guys! Thanks for the likes and comment last time :) I really appreciate it. Quick notes: This is a Reader placeholder story. If you would prefer an already named character head over to :) as the rules don’t allow Y/N stories lol so I had to wing it over there. Same exactly story, just a more fleshed out character. Also, I had fun writing this chapter. I gained a lot of inspiritafion from the comics, but it alludes to the show as well also I apologize if the format looks weird…I’m really trying to get this whole Tumblr thing :(.


Your head was spinning, and you were doing your best to stay awake. The pain was overwhelming you, and the blood loss wasn’t helping either. All you wanted was to crawl back in your bed, and sleep forever. But, considering the latest turn of events that wasn’t likely to happen. You jolted up a bit when you heard the door of the RV slam hard against its side, signaling that whoever was inside was now on his way towards you. Parker was still holding you tightly, making sure you weren’t able to move out of your kneeling position. If you weren’t so out of it, you would’ve fought to be out of this degrading position. The sound of boots crossing over the dirt made you look up, until you could barely register the shape of a rather tall man standing in front of you. Your vision was slowly glazing over, but you attempted to tilt your head back when you saw a bat moving towards your face. You winced when you felt a slight pain in your chin, realizing that it was the bat, only this time you clearly saw the barbed wire wrapped around it.

He lifts your chin up with his bat, smiling down at you as he speaks. “Hi. I’m Negan.” His voice was eerily calm, and your E/C eyes glanced up at him, breathing coming out in shallow spurts. You didn’t even really register his name, too busy trying to keep yourself from giving in to your feeling of faint. You couldn’t speak, breathing hurt enough as it is, but even then the fear that was in you was enough to keep your mouth shut. When you didn’t respond to his introduction, he only scoffed before looking you over. Eyes trailing down your face before he rubbed his beard in thought. “Well, my my my!” He put emphasis on the last word, laughing to himself as he removed his bat from your chin only to pace around in front of you. “Looks like we hit the jackpot fellas!” He gestured to you with a gloved hand, looking around at his men as he laughed. “When’s the last time you saw a woman this god-DAMN beautiful?” You could hear laughing coming from all around you, but you didn’t dare look up. At this point you were hoping for a quick death delivered by his hands. Anything to stop the pain of your wound, and the constant ridicule coming from the people around. Your thoughts were broken when you saw steel toed boots come up in front of you, the man crouched down to your level. The grin he had earlier was still plastered on his face, pearly white teeth showing as he stared at you.

“What’s your name, sweetheart? I’m absolutely dying to know.”

When you didn’t immediately answer him, he grabbed your face roughly making you look directly at him. “Come on now, gorgeous. You killed two of my men, the least you could do is tell me your name?”

You swallowed, and tried to form a coherent sentence, but only gibberish was coming out. He made a clicking noise with his mouth, clearly becoming a bit frustrated by your lack of cooperation with him. His hand moved from your chin to your shoulder, gripping it tightly and willing your body to move a bit more up. “Now I’m being nice here, sweetheart. So-“ He cut his sentence short as his eyes trailed down your body, finally taking notice of the blood soaking your tank top.

“Shit!” He laughed, “Now that don’t look good, must be hurting like a mother fucking bitch.” If you were hoping for any sympathy from him, he wasn’t giving it. That grin never left his face. That was until his eyes landed on your chest, taking note of your ripped shirt. You saw his jaw tighten, and that twinkle of amusement in his eyes quickly faded away. He lifted himself up, standing tall once again in his commanding stance. His hand flew up to his face, stroking his beard as he let out a small laugh and gesturing at all his men.

“What the fuck are we doing here? What are we trying to achieve?!”


“For fuck’s sake, don’t just goddamn stand there! Someone answer me!”

A man to his right spoke, “I’m not sure what you mean, sir?”

Negan shook his head and twirled his bat around, clearly not satisfied with anyone at the moment. “Never mind, Simon. Don’t answer that. There’s no fucking way any of you pricks understand the bigger picture here. We’re trying to build a fucking community! We all got to work together to accomplish that. But!” He pointed up, trying to convey the importance of what he was about to say. He shook his hand as he let his gaze fall upon Parker, and Craig.

“But, we cannot begin to accomplish this if we have sunk to such…in-fucking-human levels!”

He suddenly moved forward, hand grasping Parker’s shirt in an unforgiving grip. “Repeat after me. We. Don’t. Rape.” His espresso eyes were cold, anger raging behind them as he stared directly at the man who so gleefully assaulted you. Parker was panicking in Negan’s grasp, fumbling for words as he tried to express his innocence. “I didn’t rape her, sir! We just fooled around with her for a bit! All in good fun!” Craig was looking at the scene playing out before him, nodding his head reluctantly as Parker spoke. Negan threw him to the ground, that devilish smile appearing on his lips once more. “All in good fun? Did you hear that, sweetheart?”

You looked up at him, sweat dripping down your forehead making your h/c hair stick to your skin. He twirled his bat in front of you, stopping it just directly next to your face. “This is Lucille, sweetheart. And, she is awesome.” You gave him an odd look, eyes darting from Lucille to him over and over again. A deep chuckle left him as he winked at you. “Don’t worry, babygirl. She isn’t thirsty for you.” At that, you heard Parker start backing off, his thick boots kicking into the ground as he tried getting away. Apologies, and pleas rolling off his tongue as Negan began to move towards him. He began repeating Negan’s words earlier, trying anything to get him to stop advancing on him.

“We don’t rape! We don’t rape!”

Negan barked with laughter, lifting Lucille over his head. “Come on now, you stupid fuck. Have some dignity.” And with that Lucille came crashing down onto your assailants head, making you gasp and cringe as his blood splattered onto your face. You kneeled there in shock, mouth agape as fear set into your body. Any doubts that you had of that actually happening were silenced as Craig fell to the ground in his own fear, trying in vain to move away from Negan and his Lucille. Time seemed to slow down around you, and you were trembling as the only sounds that were making it through to you were those of Lucille coming down on Parker repeatedly. Your heart quickened, and you felt on the verge of hyperventilating as the darkness began to overcome you in your state of shock and pain. The last thing you remember was the feeling of your body hitting the ground, and Negan’s voice carrying across the wind.

“Simon, doesn’t Craig look a little cold? How about we fucking warm things up a bit?”



Your eyes drifted open, the fog of consciousness rushing over you as you darted your eyes around your current settings. You didn’t move, trying to focus on the voice calling to you.


“Logan…?” You tried lifting yourself with your hand, only managing to get one shoulder up before falling back onto the soft surface of something. You groaned, trying to focus on the sound of your brother’s voice calling to you. You leaned over trying to grab at anything you could get your hands on but only succeeded in falling, slamming rather hard into the floor. If anything could wake you up from your dream, that was it. You groaned in discomfort, sitting up and realizing slowly that you were in a bedroom. You scanned the room in confusion. This can’t be real, you thought. It was a rather large room, and it seemed completely untouched by the world outside. A large painting hung over the fireplace, and the windows were decorated with fine curtains. Everything in this room was immaculate, and you found yourself shifting out of the sheets that fell with you on the floor needing to explore this a bit more because you weren’t quite sure you believed it was real. As you hoisted yourself up, you winced and held your side. You looked down and found in place of your large gash, a bandage. Odd. You decided to ignore that for now in place of finding your clothes. You were currently only in lounge shorts and a rather thin tank top. Comfy for sure, but not ideal for the harsh world you lived in. You held onto the side of the bed as you got up, walking around the room in awe. You let your fingers glide delicately across the mahogany furnishings throughout the room. It all felt so odd, this wasn’t the way things were supposed to be now. Even in your home the wood was rotting. You startled when you heard footsteps approaching the doors, panic setting in you managed to find a scalpel in a bin next to the bed. You reached for it and hid on the side of the door, waiting for whoever was coming. The door slid open, and as soon as you saw someone you tried to rush them. But they were much quicker than you, and overpowered you with no issue. They grabbed your wrist and twisted you to their front, and the force made you fall to the ground. You let out a yelp when you hit, pain radiating towards your now stitched wound. You held onto that side, and scrambled to get up.

“Well, well, well, seems you are getting better, sweetheart.”

You heard a deep laugh coming from behind you and the sound of boots thumping against the floor as they advanced on you. When you glanced up you gasped and felt all blood drain from your face. He must’ve noticed because his lips stretched into a very knowing smirk.

“Now now…none of that here, darling. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m not a fucking monster.” He said that last part with that same smirk on his face which didn’t exactly ease your worries.

“I don’t make a habit of preying on the weak, especially beautiful women.” You scoffed at that. And he leaned down, extending his hand out to you. It was at this moment you really had time to take in his appearance, considering last night you were basically unconscious. He was a tall man, clad in a leather jacket and a red scarf. For this day and age he actually carried himself rather well. His salt and peppered beard was well kept, clothes crisp and cleaned. Being honest with yourself, he was rather handsome looking. But, it was a fleeting thought for you, he was after all a murderer. You gripped the scalpel in your hand tighter, not forgetting this is the same man who bashed one of his own into the ground with a bat named ‘Lucille’. Granted, that man was a lowlife son of a bitch who deserved it. But, still. This man was clearly capable of killing in the most brutal of ways. You launched forward and clumsily swung the scalpel around, just trying to aim for him. And he only laughed as he begin backing away and dodging your feeble attempts at an attack. Your next step was weak, and you found your body giving out as you stumbled forward, but he caught you in his arms and held you tight before you fell to the ground again. Your back was pressed against his leather clad chest, his strong arms holding you a little too tight for comfort. His gloved hand pulled the weapon from you tossing it aside and his breath ghosted over your ear.

“Now darling, if you want things to end with you in one piece I suggest you cut this shit, and listen.” You stiffened, clearly uncomfortable with the proximity, you could practically feel the hairs of his beard tickling your skin.

But when he noticed no sign of struggle from you he pushed you towards the bed, your body falling onto it. He paced the room, hands casually in his pockets, while he smiled to himself. He turned to you and spoke so suddenly and confidently. His smile widened and he placed his hand on his chest.

“I’m going to assume you were too fucked up last night to remember, so I’ll forgive you this once, doll. But, let me introduce myself again. I’m Negan.”

You gave him a skeptical look, and he walked forwards and leaned down a bit to be at your level.

“See, doll. This is where you tell me your name. I’m assuming your parents taught you better than this.” You stayed quiet, not wanting to give any information that you didn’t deem necessary.

He clicked his tongue at you in a mock way of disappointment. “I just saved your precious ass, brought you to our damn good doctor, had you stitched up and even gave you a nice bath to clean you up.” He laughed when he saw the disturbed look on your face at that last part.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’m a perfect gentleman, the doctor’s assistants helped with that.” You sighed in relief at that. You didn’t want to imagine being unconscious while some stranger put his hands all over you, and by the way he looked at you, you knew he’d probably enjoy that. And it seemed he picked up on your thoughts because he grinned at you in such a charmingly annoying manner.

“But, if you ever need a helping hand with that in the future. I’m your man. I’ll even be gentle.” You felt your face flush at his words, and he only seemed to be spurred on by that. A deep look of satisfaction coming over his dark eyes. He kneeled in front of you, placing his hands on either side of your body. “Now, don’t you think I deserve a little cooperation here, darling? I kept my hands to myself and even managed to save your life. So, cut the fucking silent treatment and tell me who the fuck you are.”

You stared at him, and even though that smile was still on his face you felt your spine shiver in slight fear. His tone was a total different story, and you wondered how he managed to still smile amongst threatening someone. No matter how vague those threats were. You nodded softly.


He tilted his head back in consideration. Repeating your name a few times, letting it settle on his tongue. He stood up, and looked down at you. “That actually sounds right.”

Then he pointed at himself again, “Now who am I again, darling?” You gave him an odd look, but answered anyway. Sensing that this man probably had very little patience. “Negan.” You said.

He smirked. “That’s right, darlin’ and boy do I love the way it rolls off that pretty fucking mouth of yours.” You let out a quiet sigh of annoyance, not really wanting him to hear it for fear he’d harm you.

“Now don’t forget that, sweetheart.” And his face turned serious. “Because, that’s the name of the man you goddamn belong to now. All your shit in that house you were holed up in, that belongs to me. The knife you killed my men with? That belongs to fucking me. Which by the way was so not cool. Decent fighters are hard to come by now days, so I’d very much appreciate it if you kept your pretty little self from killing any of them again.”

He paused and looked down at you, waiting for a response. You only stared at him in disbelief. Who the hell did he think he was to waltz in here and decide you were his property. Like some random piece of garbage you find at garage sale.

You glared up at him, and in a defiant tone said “I don’t belong to anyone.” Which in hindsight was a mistake. He suddenly gripped your chin rather hard, making you wince as he pulled your face closer to his own. You could feel his hot breath brush against your cheek. You grabbed at his hand trying to pry it off you but he held you still.

“Listen, doll face. And listen very fucking well because I hate repeating myself. I own you. And for your own good, you better fucking start accepting that right now. Because I’d hate to leave a mark on that pretty face of yours.”

Your breathing quickened in fear. It could all be empty threats from him. After all, why save your life just to take it. Not to mention he said he doesn’t make a habit of hurting beautiful women, then again that could be simple flirting on his behalf. But, you weren’t going to test him. You meekly nodded. Hands trembling a bit as he looked you over. He gave you another one of his charming smiles, running his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Now that’s my good girl. So, tell me. Who owns you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, and reluctantly spoke. Ignoring the raging anger building up inside you.


“Me, what?”

“You…” You opened your mouth, the words not wanting to come out. You exhaled and shakily said, “You own me.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. That’s right.” He smiled triumphantly down at you. Bringing his leather gloved hand to stroke your cheek. You stiffened at his touch, feeling very much like a play thing to a cat. He walked away from you and to the large windows across the room. You heard him bang on them, signaling to someone outside before coming back over to you.

“Docs gonna look after you for a bit. Until you can manage to get yourself up again, without falling the fuck over.”

You knew you probably shouldn’t have asked, but everything was coming at you so fast right now. And you weren’t completely comfortable with the direction.

“Why are you doing this?”

Negan turned to look at you, having stopped on his way towards the door. “We make it a habit of knowing every group, every person that walks around these parts. I don’t know how long you were at that piece of shit house, but you managed to evade my men long enough to hide some pretty serious stock there. Now, I could simply take it all as payment for having killed two of my men, and let you be on your merry fucking way, or I could take it all anyway and keep you as well and use you as I see fit. The way I fucking see it, you’re more useful right next to me.”

You only looked down, thinking over his words as he reached for the door handle. While his offer, or more like demand, didn’t seem too terrible you didn’t much care for him. He was an arrogant prick, who acted like the world revolved around him. And being honest, he frightened you just a bit. He was charming for certain, but he meant business. And you were sure getting on his bad side wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Especially after what you witnessed last night. And yet, if it wasn’t for him you wouldn’t be here right now. You could’ve easily died from an infected wound, which in this day wasn’t hard to do. So you looked back at him and nodded. Having come to that agreement that you would help him gather whatever it is he seemed to need. Before he could leave you spoke, “thank you…” he hummed in response, looking over at you, sensing you had more to say.

“Thank you, for not just, ya know…leaving me there to die.”

He smirked, “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Don’t make me regret it.” He winked at you, and exited the room leaving you to your thoughts. You wanted to pretend all of this was ok, that despite his attitude and vague threats you’d be fine. But, you couldn’t help but listen to that nagging voice in the back of your head telling you otherwise, and to be careful.

Just then the door opened and you swung your head towards it, hearing a man call your name.

“Hi, y/n. I’m Dr. Carson. Or you can just call me Harlan.”

He smiled at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. It was quite possibly the first genuine smile you’ve been given since the beginning of all this.

“Thank you…Harlan. I’m assuming all this was you?” You gestured towards your sutures. Giving him a grateful smile. He nodded and walked over to you, grabbing a pair of gloves and removing some of the bandaging. “It looks like it’s healing up well, not quite yet to be removed but you’re a strong one.” He replaced the bandages and cleaned around the area a bit. Before removing his gloves and speaking.

“I know you’re probably eager to get out of here, must be quite a shock for you. Running into the saviors then finding yourself here.” He gave you an apologetic look, sighing before taking a seat in a chair nearby.

“And where exactly am I?…and who are the saviors.”

He brushed a hand through his hair and cleared his throat.

“Well, this would be Hilltop. It’s our colony, a couple of us built it a while back. It’s not much, but now days it counts for something. As far as the saviors go, well….all I can tell you is that they mean business. They’re Negan’s group. Who you pretty much just met. When all this first started there was a small group of men whose duty it was to kill the roamers. They protected us. Eventually, that group turned into the much larger group and called themselves the saviors. And they answer only to Negan.”

You lifted your eyebrows and titled your head a bit in affirmation. How could you forget that man? So he was their leader then? Fitting. He let off an aura of power, commanded attention just at the very mention of his name.

“So, you work for them?” He didn’t need to spell it out for you, judging by the look on his face after even mentioning the Saviors you knew the agreement they must have had wasn’t a fair one. Or a safe one. Not shocking.

The doctor nodded his head, leaning forward in the chair and clasping his hands together. “We do what we can here. Do as you’re told, you survive. I’m not saying it’s fair or right, but it’s just how it works now. Just…just be careful.” He got up, and poured a glass of water for you from a nearby pitcher. He brought it over to you with some pills.

“I’d hate to see you die after having just patched you up.” You let out a small laugh, grabbing the water and swallowing the pill. Assuming it was an antibiotic to stave off infection.


He nodded gesturing to the bathroom.

“Feel free to use the facilities at any time, I’d advise you against walking out of the room for now. You need rest, I’ll have Jesus bring in some food for you later. I wish I could say you’ll be here for a while, but I have a feeling Negan will be back for you.” His lips lifted in a small smile, but you could tell it wasn’t genuine. And you knew it had to be because of Negan. He felt sorry for you, as to why, well…your imagination could conjure up a few reasons. You heard the door close and you just lied back in the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Fuck me.” Was all you could manage to muster.

If you can please review :)

As a child of divorce, I am endlessly fascinated with finding the perfect formula for making it work. But I think the biggest lesson I learned is that there aren’t any rules. [As Indian guru Osho said,] ‘Love never becomes wise, and that is its wisdom.’ Sit with the discomfort. Don’t run away from it. Lean into it, take your time with it. So many people jump into things just because they can’t stand the discomfort of not knowing.

anonymous asked:

Do you think there are any yellow Gem civilians? If so, what would their roles be?

Now this strikes me as funny because I would actually argue the majority of yellow Gems are civilians- technicians, engineers, researchers, 

See, Peridot states YD is in control of Homeworld’s army, but, if we look at the actual components of that army?

The quartz Gems we’ve seen or heard mentioned- Jasper, Amethyst, Rose, carnelian- are all red, pink, or purple.

The Rubies are a soldier caste.

YD is in control of the army not because yellow Gems are soldiers, but because Pink gems are, and the Pink faction of Homeworld is currently leaderless. Yellow, who, seemingly, has a thing about overworking and trying to do everything herself even when she’s busy, has taken over leadership for her fallen peer. 

Jasper and Eyeball both explicitly came to YD secondhand after the fall of Pink Diamond. And I really think Jasper’s line of “When you’re at the bottom, you’ll follow anyone who makes you feel like less of a failure” is relevant for her relationship with YD. That implies that there was a point where Jasper was at rock bottom before- if I had to guess, towards the end of the war when it became clear they weren’t winning and she couldn’t throw herself into fighting to feel like she was really avenging Pink.

And in this time, YD reached out to her. YD made Jasper feel like less of a failure. And I think that it’s entirely possible YD had good intentions there- much like Steven did- but it’s also entirely possible that Jasper read this gesture as born of either pity or pragmatism. Because YD has kind of a messy relationship with her own feelings. They’re of paramount importance to her worldview and means of operating, given her gem placement- but at the same time, she doesn’t want to engage with them. Emotionally, YD doesn’t have a clean room, she just shoves everything under the bed and tries to forget it’s there. 

YD would much rather engage with explicit, specific reasons for things, quantifiable scientific rules. She would much rather not engage with her feelings because at this point they’re a complete mess. 

And we can see this also trying not to engage with or acknowledge emotions is kind of where she’s failed Eyeball and Jasper. Because both of them, in their pursuit of Rose, what they’re hunting is closure.

They want to feel okay again when a part of them has not really healed from Pink Diamond. YD has tried to make them feel successful, tried to give them other meaningful work that they can focus on, but she doesn’t want to admit to her own grief, which puts her on a bad footing to help someone else with theirs.

This has, somewhat ironically, charmed me as one of the most obviously Steven-like qualities YD has. Because holy hell does Steven not like seriously engaging with uncomfortable feelings. He wants people to make up and get along incredibly quickly (Barn Mates), and he has in particular a super nasty habit of trying to sit on his unhappiness and discomfort until he literally can’t stand it any more (Keystone Motel; Mindful Education)

And, I have gotten totally off topic.

In short: I think most Yellow Gems are not fighters- see Peridot who is in fact armed to defend herself, but, the tools that she was given were very much of the “I have a gun!! What the heck do I do with it?” variety.

As I started writing about my experiences, I found myself using the term ‘HSV’ over 'herpes.’ I realized it had a different effect on what I was saying. HSV is way more stealth: most people, unless they know they’re positive for it or are unusually well-versed in sexual health terminology, don’t know what this acronym stands for. But it sure sounds medical, and thus legitimate, making it easier to talk about herpes without implicating deviance, morality, disgust. For once people might regard your situation as a valid health issue, rather than something to be mocked or dismissed as your fault. Eventually, though, I transitioned into using 'herpes’ intentionally. BECAUSE it is more visceral, BECAUSE of all its connotations. I have discovered a certain power in this word: in uttering it, I force people to reckon with what I am. To sit with their discomfort.
The world is hurt

I’m going to try something novel today. I am going to admit that I have no answers, so I shall stop pointing fingers at misguided people. I’m going to accept that rage is preferable to pain, so I shall stop judging angry people. I am going to recognize that my need to DO SOMETHING RIGHT NOW is my fight or flight reaction to fear, so I shall stop being inflamed by those rushing to action.

Instead I shall sit with my discomfort. In doing so, I choose to honor every father who failed to save his child and every mother who saw her baby leave this world. I shall honor every son who won’t learn to be a man from his dad and every daughter who will never hear her mother come home again. I will accept the hurt, which is really what alllllll of the screaming is trying to prevent. Because I am human, and it hurts to see other humans hurt.

Then I shall act accordingly. I shall do what is put in front of me to the best of my ability and be unashamed to find joy again. Because joy is just as contagious as fear.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

melancholy moments for your otp


- person a has been training and practicing for an audition (of any kind), and has mentally and physically exerted themselves so much for the sake of perfection that person b fears for their safety. because they’re exhausted from overpractice, person a makes large mistakes during their audition

- person a feels they’re past their “prime” years of work and quits their job feeling they’re no longer good enough for that profession. person b listens as person a explains this, and the two vow to find a new job for person a that allows them to feel proud of their work again

- “what’s the point of us?” person a asks person b. “we don’t bring out the best in each other anymore.”

- the affects of winter weather leave person a in discomfort. sitting inside, avoiding the snow, is becoming too dull to go through each day, so they decide to venture out to a bookstore where they meet a new face, person b, in the same book aisle

- part one

In Loving Memory- Chapter 1 (Septiplier)

Summary: Sometimes, you lose the battles you fight.  Jack had always been an amazing, happy person. He was always there for everybody, the sunshine that lit up everyone’s life. He brought a smile to everybody’s faces.

What if Jack was gone?

Chapter one- (x) (More chapters coming soon!) 

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