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thehandwixard · 10 months

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for the character ask thing: jake the dog perhaps ?

YAY jake my friend ok

First impression: im gonna pull from 11 year old me for this i didnt think about him often but he was like. you know. cool presence like spencer from icarly. very funny character very chill guy

Impression now: hes probably the single most generally important character to understanding the overall Vibe of adventure time holisitcally. hes so important. he sucks. hes incredible. he struggles intensely with the fight between his spirituality and denial of pleasure and his fleshly desires. and he has so much flesh

Favorite moment: How to fucking pick. gut reaction is just most of the episode 'No One Can Hear You' because while that episode is famous for the deer with hands its famous to me because during my most recent rewatch of the show it was really where i went. oh. thats a psychotic break. this is a noticable pattern with him where he decides to not confront reality when its scary to him. its so fascinating. i think its the most frightening he ever is in the show, partially cause we are having this realization at the same time as finn is. that jake may not always be stable. second choice is princess cookie, as it comes well before jake's criminal past is strongly established and yet his empathy towards someone unstable in a rough situation comes Full Force. ill talk about this more in relationships because..

Idea for a story: I want to put him in resident evil 7 and 8 situations ive talked about this before. i want to put him in ethan winters situations. my current largest story idea for him is him slowly losing his sanity over a period of time trying to find finn while playing both sides in a war and losing sight of trying to stop it. I also want to write my own story kind of exploring his like. gestures vaguely unresolved feelings about his alien form. i dont think he should have ever gone back to complete normal it feels cheap.

Unpopular opinion: im the only one on this goddamn earth who understands the point of why he was kind of a deadbeat dad. i.e HE WASNT it was a messed up situation with no true irl counterpart. he wanted to be a mother. he has fantasies of being a mother up through the twilight of the series, and the fact that he was not present in his children's life while they were children is something that was completely out of his control because they grew up so fast. the fact he was not Allowed to nurture them is the tragedy of it!! ocarina is as much about kim kil whan reconciling the idea of his father being the way he is as it is jake trying to reach out for any connection that anything he cares about means anything

Favorite relationship: Finn and jake's relationship is quite literally the most important thing in the show and its so easy to flatten but its so so so so so so so complex and also. they love eachother. the depths of that love are unfathomable. simple as that. its a kind of undefinable relationship i find so compelling.. its. jake and finn rely on eachother so much youd think itd be unhealthy but it ISNT and its because they never expect anything from the other that they arent. jakes feelings about finn though related to that are so fascinating because he has a kind of consistent.. discomfort? whenever faced with the fact that finn can hurt people in a meaningful serious way. he doesnt like it. he doesnt like when finn, panicking in the water, attacks him. it makes him wanna shut down and not deal with the situation and its so interesting to think about. and this doesnt detract at all from how much jake depends on finn in a real, loving, genuine way. he loves that kid. hed get sick and die if he thought finn was turning out bad/like him. they protect each other (I AM FORCEFULLY DRAHHED OFFSTAGE WITH A CANE

Favorite headcanon: he loves any depressing indie game protag he has a plushie of mae from nitw and brad lisa at LEAST. I am also incredibly fond of jake and his fam being jewish but i consider that less of a hc given that in one title card art hes literally wearing a kippah

#wix.doc #at

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angelicmichael · 3 years

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Hoax - Prologue

Michael Langdon x Mallory

Summary: After failing to kill murder house Michael; Mallory must travel back in time to Sojourn era to try again. However; she finds to her horrific discovery that jumping through time repeatedly does not come without its consequences.

Words: 3.0k+

Warnings: Death, They both almost die (or do die) so.. a lot of describing wounds and nearly dying and that jazz ✌🏻, major wounds, lowkey a dark fic, Mallory discusses wanting to kill Michael and finds celebrates it??, angst, Mallory goes and sees his dead body, blood

A/N: this takes place right after Mallory drives away from Michael in the finale btw!! I literally didnt intend on making it this dark but it just happened LOL. I feel like most of the dark stuff is vague so.. it should still be chill. This is the first time ive written millory/character x character so please go easy on me!! I also tried to follow canon and stay accurate to details the best I could but knowing me I probably fucked up somehow LMAO but enjoy 💖💖 major plot twist is coming in the next chapter btw! Also Mallorys thots are italicized.

As soon as Mallory drove away; she knew nearly immeadietly that it was too good to be true. Things could never be this fucking easy.

She felt a pit in her stomach almost instantaneously once she was in the year 2015; Even though she couldnt decipher if the anxiety was a warning or something else.. She continued on with the dark destiny she was put on this earth to fulfull.. to kill the antichrist.

Even though she was fully aware of this; and had come to terms with what she had to do - she learned the hard way that it didnt seem to make things easier at all; like how she dreamed it would. Although, even now as she continued to speed away from the infamous 'murder house', the drop in her stomach seemed to only grow; along with her self doubt.

Was he really dead??

Did I really do it??

She knew that the answer to both of those questions should be yes; but the longer she remained driving in her car, getting farther and farther away from where the incident had occured.. she knew something was wrong.

Mallory suddenly jolted the steering wheel into a sharp left; continuing to turn it until she was doing U-Turn.. She couldnt help but to feel completly bewildered at her own actions - never doing something so impulsive, like going back to a crime scene let alone commit murder, in her life.

Although Mallory felt a bit disgusted with her recent previous actions; she couldnt help but imagine how disgusted she would feel with herself if she didnt pull this off. She mulled over the previous thoughts she had had about this moment and how dreamed it would feel; she thought she would feel joy, elated, and at peace but.. instead she still felt as if she was being suffocated by his presence.

He wasnt gone. Not yet.

She pressed her foot down on the gas, she knew she hadn't gone too far away from Michael's residence yet it seemed as if it was a millenia away. The task she was supposed to complete was starting to seem more and more increasingly impossible the less distance was put between them.

If running him over with a car three times wasnt enough to kill him, whose to say anything else would? What if Constance had brought him inside?? What if she was still out there with him?? Mourning?

Mallory wasnt a monster; she wasnt going to tear away a dying boy from his grandmother in his (hopefully) final moments, even if he was the antichrist.

She felt as if she was a total loss for what to do; which made her grow sick to her stomach because she knew that was a cruel form of denial. She was destined for this moment; every moment thus far had led up to this.. so why did she feel like such a failure? Her thoughts grew more foggy and distant with panic; her throat became entirely dry as she slowed the car down. The murder house now in view; the first thing she noticed.

The red bricks and stained glass windows shined brightly in the sun. The house, which Mallory was sure typically looked beautiful, radiated a terrifying aura.. even more so this time versus when she was here only a mere minutes ago. The expanse and exterior of the house was intimidating; it held a certain danger to it that she couldnt pinpoint her finger on where the source came from.. it certainly was not Michael. Mallory knew that even if he wasnt dead; his powers would fade out for atleast a few minutes from being so wounded.

Mallory stopped the car once she saw Michael's dead body; which still resided in the middle of the road. Her feelings of panic and nausea only amplified once she saw his body - her gaze lingering upon it. She approached him with no hesitation; she could nearly feel that he was gone.. his spirit momentarily missing.. somewhere else.

She studied him carefully and nearly pitifully as she crouched down to kneel next to his body. His body was littered and splattered with bright red wounds. His pants looked as if they were dip dyed in red paint; His once pale skin along with the majority of his clothes was covered in a bright red splatter. Long, dark red lacerations decorated his face. His mouth was still agape; his once white teeth were coated in the same shade of red his clothes were.

Even though he looked absolutely horrible; Mallory still felt absolutely no remorse for the antichrist. Knowing what he would become, and his sick ways of manipulation deserved no mercy. However, knowing only seconds ago he was nothing but a mere bloody, suffering child.. she couldnt help but to not fight the tears she felt budding at her eyes; letting one slide down her cheek before quickly wiping it away - she knew it was naive to assume she wasnt being watched.

Mallory wasnt stupid - she knew her powers and what she was capable of, like the back of her hand by now. The past few months practically consisted of her testing and expanding on her limits... She knew that healing Michael in this exact moment wasnt out of the question. In fact, it almost seemed to be more difficult to restrain herself from healing him.. but she knew better.

He deserves to fucking suffer. He deserved to rot in his personal hell; wherever that may be.

She couldnt help but to nearly laugh at the thought that he finally got what was fucking coming to him.

Mallory could feel herself shaking with how close she was to Michael now. She couldnt stand how he made her feel when they were this close - almost touching.

She now was kneeling next to his body on the concrete, her knees aching from the rough surface but she couldnt go just yet. Not when she still had no fucking clue where to go from here.

The world seemed as if it came to stand still; nothing seemed like it existed outside of the small bubble that Mallory felt her and Michael were suddenly trapped in.. The birds stopped singing, no cars happened to drive by.. everything just stopped.

All the spirits and souls that Mallory could feel that were trapped within the grounds of the house, didnt bother to make a appearance either. But she knew they were still there... she could still feel their eyes on her. Watching; waiting.

The sun's warmth, which normally Mallory chose to bask in, was starting to make her itch. She could feel her skin start to moisten with sweat.. Instinctively she knew that her sudden newfound state of being uncomfortable was her cue to leave... To go where though? She wasnt sure.

Why am I still here? If everything had happened correctly; if I really killed him.. then why havent I woken up yet??

Mallory continued to stare at him grimly; not quite brave enough to speak but still managing to maintain the courage to sit by him and look at the damage she caused. The most jarring feature of Michael's current appearance would be his eyes. Mallory couldnt help but to stare at them; and it certainly wasnt because they were beautiful.

His once vibrant, sky blue, irises were now starting to look oddly dull. A faint, milky white color looked as if it were painted over them instead.

His skin was now a bruised white; Mallory shakily extended out her hand - pressing the back of her knuckles softly to his forearm. She wanted to see how cold his body was; and when she made contact - she pulled her hand back so fast as if it had been burned. She hissed, the coolness of his skin stunned her. She stared at his body intensely - shocked that she even dared to touch him, let alone even stick around for this long.

The sounds Michael started to make is what finally drove Mallory to wake up out her near trance she found herself amidst in and to realize the reality of the situation. After minutes of silence and stillness, and sure death, Michael's chest finally started to move. The amount at which his chest moved was nearly minuscule at first; but he was recovering rather quickly.. too fucking quickly for Mallorys liking.

It was almost sickly ironic how Mallorys chest started to move faster and faster as soon as Michael's did; she couldn't help but to feel entirely panicked. The rest of her emotions; her thoughts; her feelings; everything that used to make up her was now fleeting.. rapidly leaving until as she could focus on was the oxygen briskly escaping her.

She watched the color from his skin start to return; the off putting stark whiteness leaving and a very subtle pink gracing his skin tone. More noticeably; she observed how the color in his lips and eyes returned back.. almost appearing normal.

She unconsciously found herself rising; panic still occupying all of her senses. She quickly unfolded her legs and steadied herself as she stood up.. One thought and one thought only rang through her mind like a sick mantra..

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Mallory tried to gasp as she suddenly felt her throat grow incredibly dry; she let out a desperate dry cough. Her eyes started to tear up unwillingly as she felt a enormous amount of self doubt suddenly surge into the core of her being - the feeling slipping momentarily into her soul.

The world around her began to spin and melt away simultaneously; until she felt her physical body melt away from Michael and the Murder House incredibly rapidly before she could even fully process what was happening.

She felt the harsh coldness of the bath tub water for a split second before she emerged; the black water engulfing her as she stayed partially concealed within the water. Immeadietly she found herself gasping and gagging on her tongue from not being able to breath possibly fast enough... The next thing she felt was otherworldly pain. She felt so much fucking pain.

Mallory gripped the edge of the bathtub until her fingertips turned white and her nails threatened to split. She stayed like that for a moment; spitting and gasping, trying to find a way to consume as much oxygen as possible while managing the nearly unimaginable pain. Her entire body throbbed but her eyes felt a different pain; a sickly stinging.

Keeping her posture and preventing herself from slipping entirely back into the black water was a fucking mission in itself, she quickly learned. She didnt even bother to pretend to be quiet.. Her breaths and groans were far too loud to even begin to ignore.

Is Michael still alive? Where is Myrtle?

Mallorys lungs seemed to return to normal capacity after a while, her gasping decreased until she was utterly and completely quiet. She arose from the water as quietly as she possibly could, biting her lip to prevent making any additional noise from the sudden cold air she felt against her body.. stinging and torturous..

Her eyes still ached, bringing her hands instinctively to her eyes to stop the pain - she realized ones of her hands was still balled into a fist.. holding onto something.

Was that.. is that MICHAELS hair??

Mallory stared at the once curly, perfectly golden strands of hair that lie in her balled up fist in complete horror - it was now a dark red from the blood that had washed off her skin and into the water.

There was no way this was HIS hair. It had to be someone elses; anyone elses! She refused to believe that she was holding onto anything that belonged or had to do with Michael... complete disgust and delirium rendered her from thinking that.

Her first instinct was to drop the hair; but something told her to keep holding onto the lock, it would only serve her well in the future.

Her vision was inky with blood; dark red clouding her vision and making her feel even more impaired and utterly hopeless then she already felt.. even with the large wound still gaping and bleeding from her stomach. Her stomach wound made her entire body ache, trying to stay conscious was a fight within itself.

It happened again. I failed.

She wasnt sure if she was just being cynical or if her thoughts were even to be trusted anymore when she was in this state.. she only knew she wanted this horrible nightmare to be fucking over with already. She wanted to wake up in Robichauxs and see her sisters; Misty, Madison, Queenie, Zoe and more than anyone.. Cordelia... Oh fuck.

Cordelia... She was still dead.. because of me.

Mallory blinked slowly a few times; taking her free hand and wiping as much blood away from her face and eyes as she could - just enough so she could fully take in her surroundings.

If she could feel her stomach; she was sure she would feel it drop because as much as she looked, she saw no one. Absolutely no one. Tears slipped down her cheeks but they werent bloody anymore. She knew she was completely fucked; he had her cornered.

Well not literally anyways. He still managed to lurk somewhere within the vast empty walls of Outpost Three; most likely looking for her.. but he had to know she was fatally wounded.. right?

That's when out of the thick silenceness, she heard the first sign of life. Loud; but distant heavy footsteps.

Michael.

She knew she was fucked right away. She could almost feel his spirit itself within Hawthorne; the feeling slowly flowing to her until it forced her to be frozen. Petrified, still sopping wet and with some left over blood dripping off her chin - she knew what she had to do.. and she only had seconds to do it. Mallory knew he was approaching closer and closer the longer she stood docile in the bathtub.. like a idiot.

She took deep, heavy breaths. Fully; for the first time, cherishing the feeling of oxygen in her lungs - knowing that she very well might not make it out alive. Preforming time travel once alone was a enormous feat; but she had already done it twice.. but three times?

The thought simultaneously scared and excited her; she continued take deep breaths before relaxing. Closing her eyes and focusing; searching for a moment in Michael's history to go back too.

There had to be another time Michael was weak besides when he was with Constance at the murder house.. Another time that he felt abandoned.. lost.. confused..

She swallowed as she felt and focused on the soft strands of hair that she held onto; trying to search desperately for the answer that she needed as she took the next step and plunged herself under the water, first barely managing to weakly whisper, "tempus infinituum".

The water tore at her skin as she felt herself letting go from the past reality... slowly yet rapidly her senses seemed to all melt away at once before she was floating- until nothing.

Suddenly Mallory opened her eyes, blinking as she kept calm as she adjusted to her new surroundings.. an open, nearly empty forest was what welcomed her as she slowly spun around.

The smell of pine leaves and the heavy scent of the forest consumed her senses. She first felt calm and at peace; the forest was beautiful. She almost felt tempted to forget about what she came here to do and to lose herself within the sea of greenery but.. something was terribly wrong.

More so; someone was here.

Mallory first stood still; puzzled as to why she was now standing in a vacant forest with pine needles at her feet.

She didnt dare say a word out loud, just in case, but she knew she was waiting for something before she dared to take a step.. she was waiting for a sign. She didnt bat a eye when she felt a soft, warm breeze tousle her hair forward. She felt it continue to crash against her body - almost like soft waves crashing upon rocks. She felt it on her warm skin; her skin getting goosebumps as she knew what this meant. She was getting her sign.

This is it. Is he here?

Mallory giggled at the mere thought; the anticipation and glee of imagining how this nightmare perhaps could be over in the near future was making her experience true euphoria.

She began to walk through the forest; passing several trees as she searched for what she was yearning for. The breeze was far gone by now but she knew to keep going; to keep looking. She looked at the forest landscape that lie ahead of her; a sea of moss and blended greens and blues. The forest didnt have the same magic it typically held though; something was missing.

It was because she was getting closer to him.

Mallory had to suppress a scream as she suddenly felt herself step on something that wasnt the forest floor. She felt a painful shiver run directly down her spine, almost as if someone was running a blade down her back. She was becoming consumed with panic once more; and with the sudden realization what was happening.. What this meant.

It was pure reflex which caused her to take a step back; even before she had the opportunity to look down and confirm her suspicions, she knew exactly what she had stepped on. A body.

She quickly looked down at what she had stepped on - not able to take the anonymity of the individual any longer.. and of course..

I fucking knew it.

She recognized who it was immeadietly, curly blonde hair that was mangled with dirt and a typical black outfit.. it was too easy to guess the identity of the body. He was face down, his body sprawled out unnaturally and in a uncomfortable manner..

It was once again; Michael Langdon.

Taglist: @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @beyond-repentance @lizzy-claire-fandom

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thattaekwondoblog · 4 years

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My Martial Arts Story (TKD)

2020.04.26

today i miss my dojang extra... i woke up from a dream where i was supposed to spar but didnt have my dobok?? and one of my instructors handed me a.. dobok skirt?? and i was like? and he was like yeah u right this isnt gonna work sdbsmdfjsdd i dont really ever have tkd dreams (i think bc i usually am always doing tkd) but since i stopped for a bit the dreams are coming out. it made me miss sparring so much :( so below i wanted to talk about my tkd story in more detail. Enjoy!

i've actually always been a martial arts nerd, but moved around/focused on studying too much to commit to one until recently. I was talking to my mom the other day and neither of us can really remember what got me into it. I just remember wanting to be able to defend myself and be/feel strong from a very young age, and i knew martial arts was a way to do that. As a girl I also received a lot of messages that my gender was ‘weak’ and needed ‘protection’, which i really didnt like (it made me hate being a girl for some time). This is why i wanted to try martial arts. I discovered taekwondo when I was around 10 years old at a small dojang in my hometown. I loved the school & the master, who I remember always had a bamboo stick he would play around with when the kids started being rowdy (he never hit anyone, it was just his way to say ‘dont fck with me’ haha). but had to stop going after yellow belt because i was the oldest out of all the kids and i tried to go to adult classes for a while but i remember not liking it because it was ‘too slow’ for me and my mom couldnt drive me to late night classes. I was swimming a lot at the time too (fun fact i almost competed in synchronized swimming as a kid but had to stop due to illness (am totally fine now and it wasnt bad dont worry)).

I didn’t do any martial arts in middle school, and only had brief encounters when i started high school. I dabbled in kick boxing (which i still love) through an intense week long training while i was on holiday with family, and then did a bit of karate, for which sadly i had not such a great experience with the instructor which made me distance myself from the sport. The instructor brought up a heavy personal life event during class and i broke down (what did she expect i was like 15 and that event was really hard). When my mom picked me up, she shook her head to her and said ‘girls...’ in a very demeaning way, as if me crying because she re-awoke trauma was a result of ‘feminine weakness.’ i have not forgiven that person for that comment yet. she shouldn’t be a teacher if she treats students like that in my opinion. High school was very competitive and intense so i focused on studying and didnt really do sports then.

In college I really want to do more martial arts, but the lack of proper clubs or instructors made it difficult. I then went to study abroad in seoul and thought to myself if i dont try tkd again in the literal birthplace of the sport what am i doing with my life. i had good experiences with classes at uni; the two masters i had had very different personalities (one was very outspoken and funny while the other.. you could FEEL the power of tkd when he touched your arm slightly to place it correctly sdhfskdj he was very nice though). I had to stop because i was focusing on my academic projects though.

i then graduated and moved to the city, where finally there were plenty of martial arts opportunities! the first thing i did after moving to the city, even before moving into my apartment, was to visit my current dojang. i audited a class and in my head was like ’oh my god i MUST join them right now give me a dobok let’s GO’. I signed up for classes that day. The dojang master (my dad. my father, the love of my life (in the most platonic way)) was a seoulite (we bonded over that) and realized I hadn’t started my job yet so he gave me a discount, which i felt incredibly surprised by and grateful for. I started lessons the next day. at my dojang beginners usually get 3 private classes at the beginning to get the basics down before joining the group. after my first, the instructor said that i was probably ready to go with the group if i felt comfortable doing so bc i already had basics. i went every day until i moved into my apartment, when i had a mental and physical breakdown and got really sick for a week (like.. i dont remember feeling this weak and sick my entire life).

But thankfully i got better and pushed myself to go to dojang again. and it was hard. it was the summer and i hadnt used my body really in years, if ever at that level of practice. three times a week as Difficult for me, physically. i remember being frustrated that my ego wasnt satisfied haha (i thought i remembered a lot more than i did). but i loved the instructors a ton and practice was a great safe space/stress relief for the other sht that was going on my my life. I do remember that i was ready to graduate from white belt and start feeling better about my moves by the end of that summer (i was pretty frustrated that i couldnt do higher level moves, though mostly at myself).

i finally got yellow stripe and tkd things went uphill from then. i got to know ppl at my dojang better, started to go to practice more progressively. I got my yellow belt and decided then that i wanted tkd to always be in my life as much as possible. I started going to practice every day or almost every day. my tkd friendships were developing, there were small disagreements too but overall i fell more and more in love with my instructors, the dojang master (again, my dad) and the sport. we laughed so much, sweat so much, lived well.

after green stripe, my self consciousness during practice spiked a bit more than usual. this is probs bc my life outside of tkd was stressful and i was looking at my friend fellow tkd members who were higher level more. i wasnt jealous of them, far from it, i just felt small compared to what they were able to achieve and felt bad that the instructor had to stop to explain the technique to me Again. in case it wasn’t clear, i am no prodigy; i learn slowly and with long consistent practice. the two disagreements i had with my closest member friends (two separate very different reasons; we kept things civil on both sides but having to deal with that was a new experience for me so i wasnt great at it haha) didnt help my anxiety shut up during practice. i still kept at it. in january my school has an attendance challenge where you win prizes if you go every day or more than 20 days out of the month. I almost made it, but got really physically tired & kinda sick 3 days before then end of jan and had to miss one session. i was also mentally drained by life stuff so i decided to prioritize grad school applications and did less tkd in february. but that experience of going every damn day was so fun; i realized I needed to do this so much more. if there was a tkd seminar where they send you off somewhere to to tkd for like 3 months i would be down. that is when i realized my love for the sport, and the significant changes in my body that had been occurring over the past months really revealed themselves. i hear you thinking there’s no way i could fall more in love with my instructors but guess what... spending every day with them really made the love Explode dudes. In jan and fed i also really started loving sparring, even though im not great at it.

and then... march came. i got lucky to have been able to celebrate my birthday a few days before they decided to close my state down. at first i was still able to go to my dojang with smaller classes and different format of classes that respected health guidelines, but eventually everything was moved online. during that week of limited classes, i got to hang out with friend members and instructors for what would be, unbeknownst to me, one of the last times. one night after (6 feet no contact) starring, me, 2 friend members who also went very frequently and an instructor had a beer on the mats just talking and chilling. we said that we would do it again the week after. and then the state decided to shut down small businesses. i was helping the dojang transfer their classes to an online format with another student for a week (we two were the members with the highest attendance in the recent times), but then the instructors decided they should not let students come in anymore.

i was angry, i was sad, i was devastated. it was the sound solution to take and all these closings are essential and needed for public health safety, but emotionally i was not ready to let go of the dojang. i was angry at the circumstances for taking away the one thing that i truly loved and kept me going all those months of less than ideal job situation and lost of existential questions. the dojang had been my challenge, my rock, my family. i was especially angry because i had to mourn the loss of it a lot earlier than i wanted; i was already supposed to leave in june of this year. the closer june came the more teary eyed i got when i thought of leaving the dojang, but after the news i had to stop going now... i broke down. i cried so hard and loudly, alone in my room. i realize now it was the first time in my life that i cried because of love. pure, unaltered love. i thought to myself ‘how lucky is it that i felt this amount of love for something and some people’. ive moved a lot in my life but rarely felt sad when leaving a place; i often had made my goodbyes and knew it was just time to go. there were few or no things keeping me back, or i knew i would find those things somewhere else. it was also the first time i had let myself fall in love with something and people only for me. i love studying and learning for example, but when i started doing it it was mostly to make my mom and family happy, not for me. i didn’t feel like i had had a passion that i completely gave in into, a truly ‘me’ thing no one asked me or expected me to do but i just did not to have a better resume or be perceived better by society. until tkd.

now, i am still following online classes but mostly have my own training routine because it’s still hard to deal with the emotional stuff; i dont really do to live classes cause it hurts. it probably sounds strange but ive already done the emotional work of distancing myself to make the leaving less difficult. i also didnt really like the the idea of practicing in my room in front of the camera. seeing the other students on zoom would also make me feel v sad. im slowly getting out of that state of mind though and might start taking online classes again in a bit when i can’t do my regular training routine. im not sure when things will go back to normal but before i leave i will definitely send them gifts and goodbye messages, probably by mail. but yeah as of now i mostly follow my dojang’s videos, do my practice routine, and scroll through tkd tricking videos on instagram to keep motivated.

it’s kind of a sad note to end on but my tkd story does not end here. wherever im headed next I will find another dojang where i will continue to practice. i can only hope it is half as good as the family i found here. and of course now I have this blog! and will continue nerding out about kicking endlessly hahaha.

thanks for reading if you made it this far! you can ask me questions if you’d like! also tell me your tkd story!! its so cool to hear how life lead people to kicking.

#tkd #taekwondo #life story #story #martial arts #kicking #sports #tkd story #me #mind #origin story #lol #taekwondo story #martial arts story #budoblr

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judedoyle · 7 years

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Untimely Ripped

Until I was rushed into emergency surgery, there was nothing really unusual about my pregnancy. I was perfectly healthy for nine months. I went to doula-guided community yoga classes where we processed our pregnancies in group talks and learned about safe, empowering natural alternatives to the Patriarchal Medical Establishment. I sailed into and out of appointments with my OB/GYN (who I went to because I was pretty sure I’d want that epidural in the end, no matter how patriarchal it was). I didn’t have a single complication or complaint to report. And then I actually went into labor, and everything went wrong at once.

The first bad sign was the prodromal labor. Beginning on Luna’s due date, I would have a few hours of regular, strong contractions every afternoon, but then they’d just... stop. My body wouldn’t actually progress to delivering the baby. I went to the hospital once and got turned away -- it felt that real. My doctor started talking about induction, which (as I knew, from all those crunchy yoga classes) was a worst-case scenario; labor was longer and more painful at best, and led to health complications and C-sections at worst. You couldn’t just force your body to produce a baby before it was time, and if you tried, you’d hurt yourself badly. So the prodromal labor hurt, and it was frustrating, and the hormone surges meant I was crying for most of the day by day two or three. But when I actually went into labor, late Sunday night, I was so determined to wait things out that I just hopped into a warm tub and had around eight hours of full-on labor contractions before waking up my husband.

I’m actually very proud of that stage, feministically speaking. I mean: I did my pregnancy yoga and practiced my breathing and just generally Ina May Gaskined the shit out of those contractions, all on my own, for an entire night. I was at one with my uterus and/or Nature. I reveled in the cosmic power of womynhood, and the strength of traditionally “weak” bodies. I honored and cared for myself instead of turning my power over to The Man and his Medical Establishment. It helps that my husband could sleep through a Slayer concert, so I could also yell “MOTHERFUCKER” at Nature, at semi-regular intervals, and he wouldn’t wake up enough to mind.

When I arrived at the hospital, though, they assured me that I was definitely not overreacting, and was in fact very close to having a baby. So my husband and I hopped into a delivery room, I got the epidural, he keyed up some classical music on the iPad and called my mother. “You’ll have a baby by this afternoon,” my mother said. I laid there on my numbed-out but still very feminist and empowered back, meditating, and focused on making myself emotionally open in order to welcome the baby into the world.

And then the labor stopped. And started again. And stopped again. My body just kept giving out, just like always, and this time, the labor was actually too far gone for it to stop without hurting Luna. So the forced breaking of my water, which I had been set firmly against, happened anyway. And the meds to increase my contractions, which I had been firmly against, happened anyway. Every time, it was the only safe option at the time, because I had been in labor for -- at the most conservative estimate -- about twenty hours. And then I started shaking.

The thing is, you actually can’t stay in labor forever, especially not once your water’s broken. It makes your immune system incredibly vulnerable. I apparently contracted a fever so high that, by the end, they were packing me in ice, like a grocery store watermelon. I didn’t feel much, aside from the tremors, which really only felt like flu chills. But the same infection was making the baby’s heartbeat spike like crazy, putting huge amounts of stress on her.

The language they used -- around me, over me, never to me, so I had to Google all this afterward; fucking Patriarchal Medical Establishment -- was suspected chorio, chorioamnionitis. The infection gets into the uterus, most likely via the rupture of the membranes -- there are all sorts of bacteria floating around in a hospital -- and affects both the person giving birth and the fetus. One possible effect of chorio is that it weakens the muscle tone of the uterus. It makes it impossible for your body to labor hard enough to push the baby out, so a Caesarean becomes necessary. That explains what happened in the hospital, sure. And it’s one of those stories natural-childbirth advocates always tell; if I hadn’t wanted the epidural, I wouldn’t have been at a hospital where they ruptured my membranes, and if they hadn’t ruptured them, I wouldn’t have gotten sick enough to need emergency treatment, and in conclusion, every medical intervention led to another, worse intervention, so just get in your tub and have unmedicated labor like the Goddess intended, you wusses. But when I look back at the days and days of contractions that just never took off, I also wonder if I had the infection all along. If it was just waiting there, stopping my labor over and over, until I finally got into a setting where someone knew its name.

The doctor knew how much I hated the idea of the C-section. He knew that avoiding a C-section had been the entire purpose of about half my birth plan and 30% of my decisions during pregnancy. He even let me push when I was at nine and a half centimeters, just to make me feel like I wasn’t inevitably going to get the C-section -- I pushed for an hour, altogether -- but he knew and I knew what was happening. After all that labor, it ultimately came down to a decision between her life or my feelings about C-sections. I got on the stretcher and they wheeled me in to the operating room.

In natural-birth and/or feminist-birth circles, they tell you all sorts of stories about the days of Twilight Sleep; women in the ‘50s who were so drugged up they don’t remember giving birth to their own children, and never bonded with them as a result. These stories are told both sadly and smugly, both as a story about how little we used to honor the birthing process, and also about how out-of-touch and loveless mothers used to be. Let me tell you: Now that I am, officially, one of those ladies who was too stoned to remember a kid coming out of her, I do not appreciate the judgment.

Caesarean anesthesia is very, very good. It’s some of the best in existence. It also gets you incredibly, incredibly high. So here’s what I remember, about the birth of my daughter. One second, I was saying “the anesthesia doesn’t work, I can still feel my...” The next second, there was a little baby in a pink blanket being held up next to my head.

“There was a baby in here!” I told my husband, excitedly. He’d been sitting next to me this whole time. “Someone let a baby into the room!”

“There was,” he agreed.

“Someone put a baby in here,” I said, feeling he did not properly appreciate the gravitas of the situation.

“It was our baby. The Luna baby,” my husband said.

“I SAW A BABY IN HERE,” I told my husband, who was really not getting where I was coming from, in regard to operating-theater hygiene, and proper security access for infants, and the like.

Then I laid back and watched the ceiling spin. My arms were laid out to my sides, and I couldn’t move them. I grooved on being immobile. I thought about the term “spread eagle” and the guy who was condemned to be chained to a rock and eaten by an eagle, because he had pissed off Zeus. I was like that guy, because I couldn’t move, an observation which I expressed by saying “Zeus, Zeus, Zeus” very quietly and weirdly for a while.

“Brian,” I said either thirty seconds or five minutes or possibly twelve centuries later, “was that my baby?”

They took Luna to the NICU and set her on a preventative course of antibiotics. They rolled me into my room on the same antibiotics and some powerful painkillers.

I won’t say it wasn’t excruciating. It was. I had “natural” labor and epidural labor and pushing and a C-section; it took a team of five people to help me pee afterward. There are no touching mommy-and-baby photos of me with Luna because, in every picture taken since the event, I look like I’ve been recently murdered. But by the time all that happened, I wasn’t the point any more.

I just needed to see Luna. Every other lady on the floor got to stay with her baby 24 hours a day; I’d wake up in the middle of the night to hear my roommate’s son crying and get bitterly, vengefully jealous of her. I also, and more crucially, needed to feed Luna. I had a thousand “simple, natural” plans for breastfeeding, and I did not realize how important they were until none of them were possible. In the NICU they deal with actual crises too much to care about bourgie childbirth trends. Unless you’re there to stop them, they will just stick a pacifier in your child’s mouth and feed her formula, right in front of the RULES FOR BETTER BREASTFEEDING poster on the wall of the NICU, which tells you that letting pacifiers or formula touch your child’s lips will ruin her for life.

So I learned to hobble down the hallway holding onto an IV or the wall or whatever I had to do, to see my daughter. I used a wheelchair when I needed the wheelchair; I walked as soon as I could walk. Luna improved quickly enough that they put her in a transitional nursery, with open bassinets; I was allowed to hold her and feed her for an hour twelve times a day, so she got held and fed eleven hours. (I could never wake up and make it down the hall in time for the 3 AM feeding -- and, as I soon learned, if you were even five minutes late, they assumed you weren’t coming and fed the baby without you.) No-one actually expects you to show up to those feedings, it turns out. Some of the nurses were surprised, some were openly resentful. One of the latter actually picked up my boob with one hand, jammed it into Luna’s mouth, and, when she hadn’t latched after thirty seconds, thanked me for “trying” and took her away. I overheard another referring to me as “that lady who’s always here,” which I believe was a title originally invented for the Virgin Mary.

But I was always there. I had to be. It was biologically necessary for me to be there, so I was.

I still don’t know how I feel about the idea of “maternal instinct.” Like any “instinct” regulating how much one person loves another, I suspect it to be bullshit. I still don’t like anything that sentimentalizes motherhood too much; I was never more adamantly pro-choice than when I was pregnant, because going through the process yourself reminds you of the massive gravity of what you’d be forcing on other people. And I know that one reason to have your child “naturally” is that it supposedly allows you to be blasted with the hormonal change of becoming a parent, floods you with love and euphoria and undying maternal bonding powers. Because of how I gave birth, I’m supposed to have missed that.

Still, at some point, when I was frantically limp-running down hallways at three inches per hour to make the 6 AM feeding, or turning down medical care to spend time with her, or saying very un-Sady-like things like “my daughter is the most important person here, so let’s table what I need for a second, please,” it did occur to me that something had shifted.

“Maternal instinct,” as I experienced it, was not sentimental. It felt, more than anything, like I was working the Secret Service detail for the world’s tiniest President. The most important place to be was always “wherever the baby is.” The most important thing to do was always “whatever the baby needs.” Every item and experience in my life got sorted into the categories ACCEPTABLE and UNACCEPTABLE - MAY HURT BABY. It’s not a sentimental thing, when a Secret Service guy takes a bullet for a President. It’s just part of his job; they don’t hire you unless you’re willing. I was very serious about ensuring the security of the tiny President who threw up on my hands if she ate too fast. It wasn’t personal, it was just what I had to do.

Of course, I’m also convinced that my baby is beautiful and interesting and smells amazing and probably has really fascinating opinions on modern literature -- she has good taste, but she’s not, like, re-iterating anyone’s talking points, you know? She’s a really authentic baby -- but that, too, is just part of the job. I walked into that hospital as a prickly, anti-social woman who gave frequent speeches about the importance of personal and mental independence, and I left it as Gary from Veep. There are many things you can say about the transformation. But it is too strange not to be “natural.”

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baabybern · 7 years

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Moving forward

Some may say, that talking about moving forward kind of defeats the purpose of the action itself. But for some it’s a therapeutic way of getting out of your mind rather than just keeping it inside. There’s a guy that I used to go crazy for. No, not my 3 year relationship. I don’t even know if my ex still looks at my tumblr, but hey if he does, i hope he knows that he was the best relationship I’ve ever had and I’m saying I’m so sorry for it ending the way it did. I can still feel a sense of pettiness lingering on him, and it sucks but there’s not much I can do about it other than accept it for what it is.

How is it that I can get over a 3 year relationship that fucking quick rather than a fling that happened for maybe 6 months tops. It’s crazy how someone can take your soul and just crush it right in front of you, lie to you, and feel no ways about parting with you as if it was all just meant to end. The worst part is that you actually believe them. They’re so deceiving to the point where you really truly believe that you mean something to them.

I can continue to sit here and cry about it, believe me it’s been almost 2 months now. They say it takes about 3 months to get over someone on average. For my first serious relationship that took almost half a year. So I find that statistic to be utter bullshit, but then again, it’s just a statistic. You can constantly search up the amount of things to try to help you get over someone and some of it may work. However, it really is up to you on how and when to get over things and it’s not really up for a debate; which of course sucks but it’s out of anyones control.

If anyone has ever met someone who is your dream come to life, you will know exactly what I’m feeling. You first see them, and your eyes haven’t laid on anything quite gorgeous before. You first hear their voice and you find it’s a soft melody escaping the lips that you desire to lay yours upon. I don’t know if anyones ever felt the same as me on this, but when I first met him, I had this strange feeling that he was going to ruin my life. But I let him in anyways, and now the damage was far more destructive than I could have imagined.

There were so many things left unsaid the last time we spoke. About how it was essentially my fault that we ended up not being together. You fronted as if you had no control over the problem. You fronted as if I was the one who made it all happen. You honestly made me feel bad for falling for you in the first place. You justified your actions but mine were made to look like it wasn’t valid. Don’t you remember we were on the same boat at the same time? Remember when I was the first one you would hit up and end your day with? Remember when I was your first choice for a girlfriend?

I would have taken care of you, I spent much more money on you than her, not that it should be a factor, but you named that off as a reason to be with her, I remember quite clearly how you explained it. You were about to ditch her for me again, but I guess the guilt got to you. I honestly did want to meet her, I wanted to get to know the girl who makes my best friend happy. But I asked you if she made you happy in person, and you said it was whatever. Then you switched up and said she made you the happiest.

After that switch up, I thought long and hard about everything else that you said to me. I had to learn the hard way to fall for actions and not for words. I understand you were hurt, I understand she fucked you up, but that’s never a reason to destroy a soul. Especially a soul who was there for you through everything, who took care of you, and who became your best friend. But I guess your girlfriend who hates my guts was more important than your best friend who just wanted peace.

I could name off all of these reasons why I would have been the best girlfriend you’ve ever had, but it’s not gonna change anything. You tell me to not dwell on the past how could I not? You wanted a future with me, you said so yourself. We had plans, you said I was the one that you cared about the most, loved the most, and made you the happiest. You wanted to give me something that my ex couldn’t and didn’t want. But the fact that you lied about that too, makes me question everything. My life knowing you has been a lie. But if it weren’t for you, my life would be so different. Maybe one day, things will fall into place, I told you I don’t care about the sex, I don’t even care for the relationship, all I wanted was my best friend back, and you couldn’t even give me that.

How is this moving forward you might ask. Well, talking about it is one thing, coming to terms with it is another. I wish I had a talk with you, like a proper one, but you’re too busy now. But that’s the thing, nobody is ever too busy, it’s all about priorities. Once I realized I wasn’t a priority anymore, it was kind of a nice epiphany. Another thing I’ve come to terms with is how much money you owe me. You owe me almost a credit card limit. Like, almost if not $1000. You said you would pay me back by getting a telly and getting bare drugs. You said you couldn’t do that anymore which is completely understandable. However, I still don’t have that money back from you. It’s been two months.

But I realized if me spending all of that money made me a good friend and maybe even saved your life in one way shape or form, then that’s all I could ever ask back for. It was my choice to spend that money, I knew you weren’t going to force me to use it anyways. Even the piff. Piff was meant to be shared and I was going to give you some of that anyways. Even if you did smoke it with her, I’m glad it all went to good use.

The hardest thing to come to terms with was how you lied about how you felt about me. How can you stare into the windows of my soul and lie to it. I couldn’t look at you, you were too good for me, I truly didn’t feel worthy to look into your eyes. Once I did, I couldn’t stop looking. It’s like i bestowed upon the most beautiful creature; little did I know you turned out to be a monster. The worst kind of monster. Take a jellyfish for example, so beautiful once you’ve laid eyes on it, but it’s also the deadliest thing upon a simple touch. Once this jellyfish drained out all of my love, it left me there to fend for myself, no warning, no nothing.

Maybe you didn’t lie to me though. Maybe what you said to me was 100% true, just in the moment. I remember now you tend to say a lot of things you don’t mean when you’re angry. Maybe it’s the same way when you’re infatuated. Yes I said infatuated, because nobody would leave someone they love out to dry and never return. I swear we were the same. I swear you and I would’ve been the best couple. Even you said you saw us living together and being happy. You changed goals, and now I have to change mine.

At some point, you meant everything to me. No matter what you did, I always saw you as perfect. You couldn’t do anything wrong in my eyes. Whatever you did was always justifiable, but this time you explaining yourself was just so incredibly wrong and one sided, now I see you for your true colours. You were not at all what I thought you were and that’s completely my fault. I expected way too much from someone who was broken and lost and just wanted to make everyone happy. Though I’m being honest, you made me afraid to love again.

But you were absolutely right on needing to focus on myself. Who am I to keep dwelling on this if I don’t move forward. Just pathetic. I know it’s still going to take time, but I’m coping. Before, I was asked if you came back in my life, and asked me to be your girlfriend would I say yes. Before, my answer would have been “In a heartbeat”. But now, I’m not sure. I don’t even know. Would I want you back in my life? I haven’t burned any bridges, but I did walk away from it after wishing you a happy birthday and not getting a response back. I think it would hurt being your girlfriend. But then again, what would I know about that?

I recently had dreams of you, one good one bad. the bad one came first, it was me living with you, but she was living with us too. She was talking bare shit to me and you were just lying in bed with her laughing at me while she was talking. The other dream however, was us chilling again, like old times and how well you and I clicked, and that you paid me back for all the things that you owed me. I don’t know what to think of you anymore. I haven’t seen you recently to even judge what you’re truly like anymore.

I hate that me slightly hating you is the only way to get over you. Now it’s honestly such a shame to say that you’re someone i used to know. I hate speaking in that tense where you became a part of my past life but like I said, I didn’t burn the bridge but just simply walked away from it. You were the realest person Ive ever met. You checked me, but I checked you too. We had the same thoughts, dealt with the same bullshit, paid loyalty where it’s due.

I’ve always hated goodbyes, that to me just means that you won’t see them anymore, and then people will forget. I won’t forget you though. You showed me how to have sex (God bless you on that), you showed me how to not be so defensive, you showed me the true meaning of friendship, and you showed me good music. I never forget people that showed me good music.

UPDATE (Wednesday June 28th 2017):

I got a message from you around 3 weeks ago. I remember freaking out because I literally didn’t expect anything from you. It was around the same time I made this text post; possibly a few days later. I saw a notification in my instagram inbox, thinking oh it’s probably my friend getting back to me bout some shit, or maybe it was another friend who sent me a funny meme. None of the above, it was you. I remember the mixed emotions that were running wild through my mind. Happy because I thought you figured out she’s not the one for you, sad because I feel like you hit up everyone else you used to talk to, and mad because you destroyed my trust and you think saying sorry once over instagram is enough.

It was all too much to think about in the moment but one simple thought ruled my mind: I just needed to see you again. I needed to figure out what I needed to say to you and since I had no idea what to say, I just knew that right when i meet up with you, everything will just fall into place. You talked about how you weren’t happy again. I knew it. I knew you couldn’t stand to be with her. But what tipped me off was how you feel bad if you break up with her just because she bought you a fuckin ipad for your birthday.

There are two age old rules that should’ve been embedded in your mind:

1. Money can’t buy you happiness

2. All that glitters is not gold

Honestly, talking to you again felt nice. It reminded me of why you were my best friend, funny how I almost forgot. You asked me about my life and I asked you about yours. You complained about everything, how guys would send her dick pics, how she gives you so much bullshit. But you don’t break up with her unless you have solid proof that she’s cheating on you. But why should that be the deal breaker? If you’re not happy then fuckin end it, it’s black or white.

But at the same time, if you honestly truly cared about me, you wouldn’t block me on everything, you woulda checked your bitch and kept our friendship alive. But since you didn’t do any of that, I guess I’d have to say it’s black or white, right? You didn’t care about me, and I guess you just confirmed it. One thing I know for sure is true, is that you didn’t speak to anyone else other than me, because “seaweed” never mentioned you.

I know because I would be hearing about it for days. Y’know everytime i chill with her, she never fails to mention you once. And I said I felt like her in the skype messages because I felt like I was in the dark about everything. You stopped talking to her for a week before breaking it with her, and you stopped talking to me for about 2 or 3 weeks before telling me your situation without listening to mine. I just felt like someone who was just around for you. You say to not over think, but it’s kind of hard not to when you’re not fully explaining everything to me and i just have to play a fucking guessing game by myself; thus figuring out every possible outcome without someone there to give me a concrete, definite answer.

However at the same time, you being unresponsive and ignorant is also an answer. That I shouldn’t have wasted my time on someone who was just gonna do me so dirty.

However, this isn’t a goodbye, this isn’t a farewell. I don’t expect any sort of communication from you anytime soon.

But it was nice meeting you; I hope to see you again sometime.

#baabybern

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