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demonologist-in-denim · 3 years

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Review of Falling Skies by VivatRex

The first Crowley redemption fanfic I ever came across was Falling Skies by VivatRex. This was shortly after 8x23 aired, and at the time, there wasn’t much fic out there involving Crowley that portrayed him as anything other than a villain. (There still isn’t, to be fair.) And there definitely wasn’t much out there in which Crowley actively sought redemption, much less worked alongside and eventually earned himself a place among the Winchester extended family. So the fact that Falling Skies was a slow burn Mooseley fic was just something I was willing to accept in order to read what I was desperately looking for in a Crowley fic.

I was inspired by this post to go back and reread Falling Skies for the first time since it was completed in 2015. All 328,000+ words of it. It’s certainly the longest fanfic I’ve ever read. And I’ve read fanfics that more closely align to what I’m looking for – but because this was my first Crowley redemption fanfic, I’ve never forgotten it. There are parts of it - scenes, even single lines - that I vividly recall. There are scenes and dynamics and plot points in this fic that were significant influences on my own writing, and are so deeply entrenched in my understanding of post-cure Crowley that rereading this fic felt like some tantalizingly familiar part of myself echoing back to me after a long absence. This is the longest review I have ever written, but then, it is a very long fic.

To quickly summarize the fic, Falling Skies begins after 8x23, with the angels falling to earth and Sam having collapsed from attempting to abort the demon trials. The overarching plot follows Dean, Sam, humanized Cas and resentfully cured Crowley as they attempt to deal with the fallout of Abaddon’s return and the shuttering of the Gates of Heaven. Along the way, a new villainous angel makes a play to rule both Heaven and Hell, angels and demons battle out their differences on Earth in a massive slaughter, and the Man Tablet is discovered, which reveals that the ultimate apocalypse involves merging all the known planes of existence into a hellish nightmare. Throughout all of this, Crowley struggles with a blood-born conscience that begins to form itself into a soul, a mental and emotional link that now connects him and Sam due to the incomplete cure, and rival selves: the cunning, successful King of Hell and a man haunted by his past, longing to make amends. It’s equal parts Mooseley, Destiel, and a season’s worth of near-world ending scenario.

Scenes from this fic that I’ll never forget:

The opening scene is Crowley in the church at the end of 8x23, beset by guilt and shame as he can feel for the first time in hundreds of years the depth of pain and suffering he’s caused.

His reaction shortly after the aborted cure to remembering he killed Meg. “Crowley’s stomach twisted in a painful knot at the thought of Meg…The unspeakable acts that hadn’t seemed unspeakable at all at the time…He promptly rolled down the Impala’s window. He leaned out, vomiting onto the road.”

The scene in which Crowley admits to Sam that he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself after the cure, “if you’d cured me, I would’ve hung myself the minute I found a long enough rope.”

The scene in which Crowley faces the demon who tortured him on the rack, and sees himself in comparison to that demon, hears his own awful words to Kevin, “What you people fail to under is that you are nothing” and “it makes him sick to what little remained of his soul to think that his mindset had been similar to this…only a few months prior. That he hadn’t been much better than this, once.”

Fergus’ death scene was particularly memorable. Driven by fear of his own impending death and going to Hell, he accidently kills someone he loves, and takes his own life by hanging. It’s not ever the backstory I would have imagined for him, but it was written with real heart behind it.

Having chosen to complete the cure, that Crowley receives complete forgiveness. Whatever substitutes for divine authority in this fic restores his soul fully, forgives him for all his past sins, and frees Crowley from the ruinous effects of damnation. “He’d been forgiven. Crowley sobbed into his hands.” It’s not the story I would have written for Crowley, but at a time when Crowley redemption fic was almost nonexistent, this was powerful.

In a rare moment in which Cas is being a self-righteous asshole, Dean remarks that “you’re really reminding me of someone…a douche bag I met back in ’08 who threatened to throw me back into Hell if I didn’t show him the respect he deserved.” Later, after he’s had time to calm down and begins to feel guilt, Cas asks “The ‘douche bag’ who raised you from Hell. Did you hate him?”

This fic offered a lot of the emotional struggles and scenes, the waypoints, I wanted to see along Crowley’s road of redemption.

His struggle with embracing more human emotions and perspective. His subconscious and then intentional rejection of the monster he used to be.

Being offered a choice between more power and more humanity, and after a long internal struggle, choosing humanity.

Ultimately choosing the Winchesters and (Crowley’s own conception of) the greater good over demonic self-interests. Choosing “one tiny forever [with people he cared about over] a never-ending existence” without them.

Crowley grasping – and openly admitting to valuing – humanity for its own sake. And that while in becoming less demon and more human, in becoming family with the Winchesters, he may lose his powers and influence, his immortality and near-invincibility, that he gained everything else. “Love, friendship, family, redemption…It’s all worth it!”

Crowley in this fic is written as having that change of heart and perspective because of and for Sam’s sake, and I very much write all of that happening for Crowley’s own sake and born of something innate to him, but seeing all of this in a fic assured me that I wasn’t the only one who thought that redemption was possible for Crowley. It meant a lot to me at the time. I guess, considering I was willing to reread this whole fic again all these year later, it still does.

Crowley admitting – to himself and to others – or directly referencing feelings of guilt, remorse and shame for his actions. It wasn’t explained away as just the effects of the cure. Something deep inside him had been changed, restored.

The very first scene resoundingly validated my own understanding of 8x23 – Crowley caught up in the flood of emotions brought on by the cure, seeing his actions for the first time as truly monstrous, hearing the cries of his victims. Holy mother of sin, the things I’ve done.

The admittance to himself that time alone in the bunker’s dungeon, in the dark, was too much time left to self-reflection and memories – the nagging of his conscience when he’d rather suppress it entirely.

The rawness of his emotions, his unfamiliarity with how to process them, “it had been a constant struggle not to start sobbing like a bloody child since Sam had almost cured him.”

His increasing hatred of other demons, not because of their disloyalty or incompetence, but because of what they symbolize: their delight in suffering, the misery they cause, that he was anything like them and might still be – or worse, might regress and become again.

In canon, Crowley asks Sam where to begin looking for forgiveness. He references wanting to make amends again in 10x17 when he tells Sam he thought making changes to Hell “might matter.” But after the cure, Crowley in canon never really expresses one way or another whether he thinks he’s capable of or can earn redemption. We’re left with subtext that suggests Crowley thinks he’s too far gone for that – or has been convinced that that’s the case by the attitude of the Winchesters and Cas. Fanfiction, this fic, offered up what canon couldn’t:

Crowley admitting to hating what he was and wanting to be better. Saying things like “I’ve been past the point of forgiveness for a very long time” and “There’s no forgiveness, not for a thing like me” and hating that.

Feeling beyond ashamed to have so thoroughly damned himself beyond any hope of redemption. “Even now, he would never forgive himself for all he’d done – and truthfully, he didn’t believe he deserved forgiveness.” Crowley feeling that way both kills me – because it’s not true, dammit – and fulfills a perverse need to see the character suffer through all the necessary growth to actually become that better self that is worthy of that redemption.

Crowley admits his own efforts are “not enough!...It’ll never be enough” compared with his sins. In canon, Crowley never says as much, but plenty of other characters, particularly the Winchesters, are more than happy to come to that conclusion for him.

Again, I am amazed – looking back at this fic – of how much of Crowley’s road to redemption that this fic established for me. One of the waypoints was Crowley coming to a point where he recognizes and then internalizes that being a demon is bad. That seems obvious, but Crowley had so much to gain from being a demon. Did gain so much, compared to his human life. But in becoming a demon, souls lose something, something of immense and irreplaceable value.

After the aborted cure, Crowley “had all the souls of the damned behind him, and he’d never felt weaker.”

And then there was the matter of watching what other demons did, the harm they caused – seeing the consequences and aftermath of the pain and suffer he had caused, how that effected the people around him, the people Crowley now cared about.

There’s coming to grips with the understanding that possessing a meatsuit is a horrible, violating experience for that person.

And that being this broken, corrupted thing is something Crowley wants to get away from, forget about, suppress. And as he increasingly becomes one of the boys, it’s something he tries – without success – to put behind him. “Would you believe that I’d almost forgotten?...Forgot what I was.”

Crowley’s road to redemption, his “transformation” in this fic, is slow. As appealing as the plot point of the demon cure was in canon, I couldn’t imagine the reforming of a soul of the demonic smoke to be anything other than slow, painful, and complicated. It had to be that way, it had to be something of value, to be a redemption that was actually earned.

Crowley’s humanity shines through a little at a time. In most of fanfiction, we go straight to the heart of the matter. That’s what we’re here for. But it’s so much more impactful when the glimpses of Crowley’s feelings and humanity are rare, and veiled behind snark, dismissal, and misdirection.

Crowley has moments of both begrudged self-reflection and open admission. He surprises himself in moments with the sincerity of his own remarks.

Grapples with longing for humanity and the good aspects that come with that, as much as he hates human weakness.

He often considers himself not human enough, and is hard on himself for that.

He learns to ask for help, and the scene in which he asks for help in completing the cure is something I longed to see play out in canon.

There is a scene where a character can see Crowley’s true form – what an angel sees when looking at humans, demons and other beings – and can see that it’s healing from the corrosive effects of damnation and being on Hell’s rack. This is something that I’ve never explored in my own work, but have often thought about and wondered how to visualize for the reader. Visualize Crowley “regaining pieces of his soul,” as Eliot in Leverage recently put it.

There are moments in the fic in which Crowley’s demonic instincts and humanity align, have the same goal, which is something I love and would have wanted to see explored in canon.

At one particular vulnerable moment, Crowley admits to the cure having saved him – “You saved me” – from the damage done to a soul corrupted into a demon. Saved him from himself, stopping him from doing more evil in the future.

The tragedy of that, of course, is that the Winchesters didn’t save Crowley intentionally, didn’t do it for Crowley’s sake, and because of that, Crowley in canon could only begrudge having been transformed from an “icy, unfeeling, ruthless, perfect” demon into a “messy, emotional” shadow of himself.

Even as Crowley laments “not being human enough” in this fic, he is also conflicted about not being demon enough.

The part of Crowley that still revels in depravity and violent strength, in ultimate power, can’t stand the idea of being weakened by human nature. He can’t believe he’s starting to feel all those rainbow, feel-good emotions that make such fools of the Winchesters and their kind.

Equally, not being demon enough undermines Crowley’s legitimacy as King of Hell. If he isn’t the most ruthless, sadistic, uncaring monster out there, he isn’t fit to rule Hell. And not being the king, who is he? And from where does he obtain his power, his means of security and self-preservation? It is as much an existential crisis as it is a matter of wanting to hold onto ill-gotten power and authority.

Giving into his more human side, “would he even be able to rule Hell,” or would he be reduced back to the nothing that he was before bashing his way through the ranks?

And if he gives up humanity for being King? For power? At least then “I’ll have power. I’ll have respect. I’ll have the best a demon can have. The best I can have…It’s all I can do.”

Even in admitting letting go of humanity secures him power, Crowley admits that he chooses that because it’s all he thinks he’s worthy of, a sad consolation prize. Crowley never admits as much in canon, but I absolutely read all this as the reason for his inability to let go of Hell and move to join the Winchesters sooner.

Crowley’s perspective on being king in this fic and how that perspective changes over the course of the slow burn is perhaps the greatest strength of the fic.

Throughout much of the fic, Crowley legitimately loves being king. He loves the authority, he loves the power. The fic leans heavily on his cunning and strategic mind, something that canon failed to capitalize on after Crowley became a second-tier member of Team Free Will. While reading, I honestly believed that the author was writing a Crowley that loved the crown and would begrudge giving it up.

But slowly, what he loves about being a king cannot outweigh everything he hates about Hell, demonkind, and what being king costs him.

Very much in line with canon, Crowley gets to a point where he is forced to admit to himself that despite all the perks and benefits, he actually hates being the King of Hell.

He believes he has to keep being king to keep Hell in line and less of a threat – just like in canon. And uses that as a justification, along with love of power, to remain trapped in his own personal hell.

A few aspects of being King of Hell that the fic explores that canon doesn’t include:

The brilliant idea that “Hell chooses who leads it.” Demonic loyalty shifts from an unsuitable leader to a powerful alternative, and when that loyalty shifts, the power of Hell shifts from to that particular demon or Knight of Hell. That’s what gives the king (or queen) of Hell their immense power and legitimizes their authority. Love that idea – it almost makes it like a…demonocracy.

Crowley feels responsible towards the overall protection of demonkind. This is somewhat suggested in canon, such as when Crowley refers to Bobby Singer as being a surge to “his kind.” But it doesn’t have quite the paternalistic quality to it, compared to in the fic when Crowley gets angry that Abaddon is using “his subjects” as cannon fodder against angels. “Yes, they were traitorous, weak-minded prats, but they were still his.”

But the most significant aspect of Hell and demons this fic explores – in my opinion – is how Hell turns souls into demons. Falling Skies delves into Crowley’s own torture on the rack, “he kept seeing flashes – brief, vivid visions, memories” of “blood and laughter and screaming ad begging and pain.”

Souls are strapped to the rack and torn apart, “destroyed brick by brick…violated and torn down” and then, made into a demon, “pieced back together into something else…something evil. Something poisonous and wrong.” This unmaking so as to create from the ruins departs from the idea that a soul caves or gives into to evil in Hell, and instead invests in the idea that it is something done to them, that it is a perversion of everything that they are, which in my opinion is a much more compelling take on demons.

Hell doesn’t only take a soul’s humanity, it takes their memories as well. Crowley references how “his torture in Hell had been enough to erase almost every part of his human life. He honestly only knew the barest details of the man that was Fergus.”

What he does remember is primarily the bad memories, as if Hell intentionally allowed him to hold onto those memories to either fuel his damnation or to discourage him from being nostalgic for his human life.

Much of what Crowley actually feels, even as a demon, is suppressed, “drowned in smoke”, numbing him to his actions and clouding his own thoughts and emotions in Hell’s influence. “He’d never realized how much he’d lost, how much he’d blocked out, how much he hadn’t even thought was worth remembering.”

All of this significantly influenced my own ideas about what it meant to be a demon – to be a semi-cured demon – and Crowley’s existential struggle.

Some smaller, more personal characteristics of Crowley that this fic influenced in my own writing include:

Crowley being a cook, and rolling his eyes at the boys fearing he’s going to poison them

Crowley referring to or thinking of the Winchesters as “his humans” rather than him being “their demon”

Crowley stating in fanfiction long before that final scene in 12x23 that he “always wins”

pointing out how even before the cure, he has carried his own weight in the saving-the-world department. “Who helped you stop the apocalypse? Me. Who helped you take out Castiel when he tried to pay god? Me. Who helped you stop Dick and his cronies? Me! ARE YOU NOTICING A TREND HERE?”

In this fic, Crowley takes a younger meatsuit – the son of his canon meatsuit. Which made me very uncomfortable and felt hypocritical, because by this point, Crowley is very much one of the good guys and should have had qualms about that. But then angelic powers make it possible for Crowley to take that meatsuit and the person is snapped back into existence, whole and unaware, and Crowley is visibly relieved by that. Vessels and meatsuits has always been something that the canon never properly addressed or explored. And while Crowley taking just a younger version of his vessel felt like ageism here, at least the author addressed the moral complications of his choice.

Crowley’s central, guiding concept of redemption and what it means to do the right thing was also established for me in this fic.

He has the chance to murder the demon that tortured him, that led him on his path to damnation. The demon attempts to play the mortality card, telling Crowley to “kill again and blacken your heart even more.” And Crowley, in perfect character, replies “in for a penny, in for a pound.”

Crowley truly believes himself to be beyond redemption, but that he can use his damnation as another resource in the larger fight for what is right. If he’s already damned, no reason to hold back – he can do the ugly, messy things the others can’t, what might even need to be done to secure the win for Team Free Will.

He reflects on his changing perspective of morality, how he thought good and evil were just human concepts that got in way, that people mistakenly draw line between good and evil when really it’s a spectrum that people move up and down all the time.

What he comes to believe in, with his semi-restored humanity, is choices. “That night that Sam had injected him with human blood, that night he’d come close to being saved (or doomed?), he had seen the darkness inside of himself, and he had hated it…there was good and evil within everyone, or at least the potential for it. What mattered was what side you chose, or at least which you chose the most often, which you kept trying to fight your way back to…For the time being, Crowley was not evil. And really, he rather liked that.”

That idea of Crowley fighting his way back to a better version of himself, to his morality and humanity being defined by his choices – that is central to me in Crowley’s character and road to redemption.

Much of Crowley’s relationship with the boys post-cure for me was based on this fic as well.

With the cure coursing through him, seeing Dean as an actual person for the first time.

His professional respect for them morphing into admiration, into protectiveness, because “they tried. And that should count for something, damn it.”

His understanding that the boys’ don’t just use people up – they do so by giving them something to believe in, something to fight for, and letting the cause use them up.

Dean making a deal with the angels to kill the King of Hell, and being unable to go through with it, then choosing to stand between Crowley and the angels.

Crowley recognizing his and Cas’ similarities, discussing with him the benefits and difficulties of being human or semi-human.

He and Cas getting a drink together and sharing their woes.

Cas admitting that his old angelic biases being in the way of seeing before how alike they are.

Crowley and Cas joking that in their team-up, Crowley is Dean and Cas is Sam.

Idea explored in this fic that I loved and want to flesh out in a fic:

Closing the Gates of Hell means all the demons, including Crowley, will be trapped down there forever. And a) Crowley considers or b) the Winchesters consider without telling Crowley - turning him human so that he won’t be trapped down there with demonkind.

A third or even second attempt at the cure might not be possible, or not take full effect.

Turning a soul into a demon takes proper time, that “hurrying the torture, letting out the souls before they’re fully cooked…churning out demons with bits of human still left in them. You’d think it would make them less dangerous, but it just makes them a hell of a lot worse. They’re out of their minds and out of control.”

And I very much appreciated that it referenced the reality that in killing a possessed meatsuit, the boys were killing a victim, a possessed person. That is something that sort of fell away and became an acceptable collateral damage, and never sat very well with me.

Falling Skies also introduced a loyal lackey for Crowley by the name of Laharl who I loved as a character. Crowley very much needed that someone in later seasons.

Castiel attempting to heal Crowley, and him suffering an instinctual fear that the angel intends to smite him.

The boys – and Crowley – struggling with the unwelcome knowledge that if Crowley chooses to become king again, there will come a time when their interests don’t align, and they will have to be enemies again. How much Crowley doesn’t want that, can’t bear the thought he might hurt them again.

I know this is a really long review. And I honestly don’t expect anyone to read it all the way through. I wrote it more for myself than anything. Because, even though there is plenty about the way that I write Crowley that differs from the way this author did, there is also so much here that influenced my understanding of him and his road to redemption. When there was no other fanfiction about Crowley fighting his way out of the dark, about choosing the Winchesters and to be better, there was Falling Skies. And I will always be immensely grateful for that.

Read the fic on AO3

#spn #spn fanfic #crowley #fic rec #happy sulphur saturday

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jewishzevran · 4 years

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build me up from bones

After a night of wine and laughter, Pippa Hawke and Fenris share their first kiss. [ao3]

How beautiful to find a heart that loves you, without asking you for anything but to be okay. ~ Khalil Gilbran

The fire was still flooding the room with warmth, and Pippa leaned closer, eyes heavy lidded from the wine, and fixed on Fenris' mouth. Their lips met, and for a second, she was breathless, but then Fenris pulled away and she looked up to see him rigid in his chair, boring a hole through the floor with his stare, resolutely not looking at her.

Embarrassment washed over Pippa in waves, and tears burnt in her eyes as she stumbled over half formed apologies and got clumsily to her feet, just about ready to jump into the harbour. At the last second, a hand snapped out to grab her wrist and she froze.

"Don't go."

”Don’t go.” Fenris pleaded, so quietly she could barely hear him over the crackle of the flames. Pippa paced backwards until she was level with his chair, and waited, stomach still lurching and shame still prickling up the back of her neck. Fenris released her. "I was a slave. I won't bore you with the details, but I'm... not used to people asking for my permission."

He still couldn't meet her eye, and her heart ached for him. "Fenris," she said quietly, "I want you to know I won't ever do anything you don't want me to."

He flinched at that, curling in on himself a little. "Don't -" he said before making a visible effort to stop himself speaking, to sit up and look - not at her, but at least in her direction. "That's what I mean," he continued, hands fisting in the lavish velvet of his seat. "I don't – I can handle cruelty, or violence, or indifference, even. But I - I don't know what to do when someone is kind to me. Everything I've learned just tells me it's a trap."

Pippa perched gingerly on the edge of the table. "Do you want to kiss me?" She asked, gently, patiently.

"Yes," Fenris breathed, finally looking up and meeting her gaze. "Very much."

Pippa couldn't stop her heart from fluttering. "Do you want to take the lead then? You kiss, I kiss. You stop, I stop." She smiled encouragingly.

Fenris' brow slowly unfurrowed as he processed her words. "I... yes. All right." He slowly got to his feet, standing in front of Pippa and taking a long, steadying breath, before leaning down to brush his lips against hers.

As their mouths met, warmth flooded through Pippa. Even chaste like this, the gesture felt heady and sweet. Fenris' arms remained at his side, so Pippa kept hers in her lap despite an overwhelming urge to pull him down by his shirt and kiss him until she was dizzy. Still, she couldn't stop herself smiling so wide her cheeks ached.

Fenris pulled away, looking a little perplexed.

"All right?" Pippa asked.

"You're smiling."

"Yes," she replied, unable to refrain from teasing, "That tends to be the reaction when I'm happy."

Fenris' mouth twitched at the corners in response, and it only made the butterflies in her stomach multiply. "You liked it, then?"

"I did," she murmured, suddenly aware of how close his face still was to hers. "And you?"

Fenris reached up to gently cup her cheek, humming appreciatively. “I did.” His thumb stroked over her skin, and when he spoke again, his voice was practically a purr. “May I… do it again?”

Pippa nodded, tilting her head up in invitation, and when Fenris covered her mouth with his this time, she couldn’t help but let out a little moan against his lips. Her face felt hot where he was touching it, and then he inhaled sharply and deepened the kiss, his other hand coming to rest on her back, pulling her closer. She made a small noise of surprise when she felt his tongue, but it quickly shifted to a soft moan, and she mirrored him, placing her hand on his face. He flinched a little in surprise, but didn’t pull away, continuing to kiss her with a desire so tangible it made her clothes feel far too tight. She was aching for more, wanted to ravish him right there on the rug in front of the fire and trail her tongue down his chest, but she’d be damned if she let her enthusiasm push Fenris into something he wasn’t ready for, and given that this was undoubtedly the most wonderful kiss she’d ever experienced, it was easy to suppress those urges, and store them away for another time.

When Fenris finally pulled away, Pippa chased his lips with a small noise of protest, before opening her eyes and blushing, ducking her head with a shy smile as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Fenris was frowning a little, and Pippa regarded him questioningly.

“What is it?”

“It didn’t hurt,” he murmured, only half looking at her. Pippa tilted her head slightly, and Fenris continued. “The tattoos, they - if someone touches them, it’s unpleasant. Mostly, it’s just discomfort, like an old injury that hasn’t quite healed. Sometimes it’s painful.” He held his hand out, staring at the white, vein-like markings stark against his palm. “But it didn’t hurt when you touched them.” He looked up, eyes meeting Pippa’s, and she felt her stomach lurch.

Without breaking his gaze, she very slowly took her hand, and traced the lines from the base of Fenris’ palm to his fingertips. He inhaled sharply, and Pippa immediately withdrew, but he shook his head and reached out his other hand to cling to hers.

“Don’t-” His eyes flicked down to where his fingers curled around her wrist, breathing heavily, and shaking ever so slightly. “Please, Pippa,” he breathed. “Do it again.” He pulled her hand up to his face to touch the lines on his chin, “Here. Please.”

“Fenris-”

“Please.” He urged.

Pippa relented, and feather-light, ran the pad of her thumb over the markings. Fenris inhaled again, and Pippa watched in surprise as his eyes fluttered a little, and he leant into the touch. “What is it?” She asked, softly.

“It’s… good.” Fenris said, as she continued to gently brush over his skin.

Pippa blinked. “You… you like it?”

Fenris nodded, and slowly lifted her hand away from his face so he could press his palm flat against hers, sighing again softly at the touch. “It doesn’t hurt,” he repeated, voice full of wonder, an almost child-like awe on his face as he stared at their hands.

Before Pippa could ask anymore questions, or work through the implications of what had passed between them, the markings on the back of his hand began to glow. In fact, his entire body lit up. Not the searing blue she had become accustomed to in battle, but a gentle luminescence, like soft candlelight from behind a linen screen. Pippa was awestruck, but when Fenris noticed, he started and jumped back, staring at his hands in confusion and slowly dawning horror.

“What is this?!”

The light was already fading, like it was sinking back into his skin, and sensing his growing terror, Pippa launched forward and grabbed one of his hands, pressing a soft kiss to his palm and then clutching it tightly. “Fenris, Fenris it’s alright. You’re safe, I promise, you’re safe.” When Fenris caught her eye, the fear in his eyes began to subside and his breathing returned to normal. Pippa held his gaze. “You’re safe.” She repeated, smiling reassuringly, and reached up to cup his cheek. He smiled back, and as the tension left his shoulders, the glow returned, not as brightly as before, but unmistakable, and Fenris shimmered in front of her like starlight on a lake. It was the most beautiful thing Pippa had ever seen.

“What’s happening to me?” He asked hoarsely, clutching Pippa so tightly he was threatening to cut off the blood supply to her fingers.

“This has never happened before?” Pippa asked.

Fenris shook his head. “No.”

They remained in silence for a long while, before Pippa began to speak slowly, ideas forming as she spoke them aloud. “"Fenris," she asked carefully, "have you... has anyone ever touched you because you wanted them to? Really wanted, not just... because you couldn't say no?" Fenris frowned at her, and Pippa carried on. “Your markings are everywhere. It’s hard not to touch you without making contact with them somehow. And for most of your life, whenever someone put their hands on you, it was unwelcome. You didn’t want it. Then you were fighting to survive and in battle and people were trying to take you back to Tevinter, so - could it - is it possible that the markings don’t always hurt, but just when they are touched without permission? When the touch is unsolicited?” Fenris remained quiet, staring at his hands and processing Pippa’s words, and the silence encouraged her to continue. “Could it be that this is how they react when you want someone to touch them? When you’re happy?”

Fenris continued to stare at his hands in silence for so long that Pippa was afraid she’d broken him, but then the corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk and he looked up at her. “Pippa, if you wanted to know if I fancied you, there were much easier ways to find out.”

Pippa started to laugh, and it was so infectious that Fenris joined in. She’d never been so delighted to be teased in her life. “Well,” she says, wiping a tear from her eye, “Carver always said I had a knack for turning men on, you’re just the first person to take it literally.”

Both of them collapsed into giggles again, and Fenris stepped back between her legs and pulled her in tightly against his chest, still chuckling heartily. “I knew you were going to be trouble as soon as I set eyes on you, Miss Hawke.”

“How dare you,” Pippa said, muffled against his shirt. “I am a delight.”

“Yes you are.” Fenris agreed, and Pippa could hear the smile in his voice.

She pulled back, and smiled at him coyly, her eyes as sultry and seductive as she could make them. “Trouble or no, you still wanted to kiss me.”

“Yes I did,” Fenris said, leaning closer and tilting her chin up with the side of his finger. “And I find myself very much wanting to do so again.”

“What’s stopping you then?” Pippa murmured, and Fenris’ reply was to close the gap between them and press their lips together, and he shone so brightly that Pippa could still see it behind her closed eyes.

#fenhawke #fenris x hawke #hawke #f!hawke #fenris #pippa x fenris #ash writes

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critical-goat · 3 years

Text

aight, last WCO post I’ll be making for a long while

I’ll go back to regularly scheduled content tomorrow, I have this lined up to post while I fix my Ao3 account

These are my best role play replies I’ve made in the last week (with the exception of the Starcave and Savagery rps, which are both months old); I’ll add any content warnings that may apply to the individual sections it would apply to. You’ll only be able to glean so much context from the given passages, as these aren’t all the related replies and I won’t post anything I myself didn’t type

please heed the warnings before reading each section. I completely forgot how fucked up some of this is

word count- 4.9k

Poisonpetal

{ShadowClan Territory, territory exploration (no content warnings)}

Poisonpetal had to suppress a rumble of amusement as he watched Puffinpaw throw himself onto the ground. He'd give him a moment's rest before they went to the next border, at least. They'd have to work on his fortitude, but that was the purpose of training, was it not? His whiskers twitched at Puffin's assessment of ThunderClan. He wasn't wrong. "I see you've been told about all the history you need." They had little else going for them other than they were the only Clan that managed to constantly be aflame. "As much as I like to poke fun at ThunderClan, they are a crafty bunch, relying on the sympathy of the other Clans to fight their battles with carefully crafted pleas of helplessness. They're only dangerous in their ability to gain allies, but it is an ability and a threat nonetheless. It is how they win most of their battles." He had never once seen this Clan win a battle by themself, and all direct attacks lead to their loss, any retaliation came at the paws of the other Clans. One on one, they were worthless, but their ability to cajole sympathy was their only saving grace and it made them just dangerous enough of a foe, though he didn't see RiverClan coming to their aid anytime soon, with as many times as They'd stepped on their toes and offenses they caused. He could see them going up in flames very soon. "ThunderClan has also been known to use a unique ambush tactic. Being one of the few Clans so surrounded by trees, they've taken to believing they're squirrels, and hide themselves among the trees. Their more deadly ambushes come from above, but in more recent times, they seem to have forgotten that they can climb. They haven't used that tactic in a long time." He turned back to Puffinpaw, finished with his lessons on ThunderClan. They could continue trashing them at a safer distance. "Take in the scent and memorize it, we'll be heading to the next border soon."

Palepaw

{RiverClan Territory; A Mouth of Poison and a Heart Full of Hate (no content warnings)}

Palepaw was no stranger to being woken at ungodly hours of the day and night and was probably one of the least grump about being dragged away. She surveyed the group and just.... couldn't help but wonder what she had in common with the rest of them? Sure, she seemed to be entrusted with tasks set by both Kestrelstar and Snakeheart on occasion and she could understand why Stormtalon was here- he was a competent warrior and driven by duty. Perhaps it was her closed off personality, but she couldn't quite get a read on the others, having no previous interactions with any of them to help gauge their moods, other than the fact none of them were pleased to be here and none of them wanted to take place in pleasantries. Everyone either awkwardly shifted just a little farther away from the others or down right snarled at the idea of talking to strangers. ... a shame, really. Sometimes having connections got you places. "I'm afraid none of us are in a chatty mood, it seems. Perhaps it would be best if you told us why we're here?" It was a gentle suggestion, honest, but she couldn't deny that everyone else's stand off nature was feeding into her own irritation just a tad bit. It wasn't at the Medicine Cat, she didn't think, but it was there. She didn't miss the way most of them gave her an especially odd look. It was given, as she was the only apprentice among them, but none of their gazes were particularly judgmental, so she'd leave it be..... for now. She was far more curious to know what the Medicine Cat had in store.

[]

Palepaw glanced over to Sparrowskip and Plumstorm, having just barely caught what they were saying amongst the chaos in her mind. "Snakeheart said we may speak freely. We shouldn't silence someone just because their beliefs do not align with our own." Her attention immediately returned to Snakeheart, not having much more intrest in the others squabbling. Despite the animosity and uproar this was causing among her Clanmates, her own answer was a resounding, undeniable yes. She'd lost so much, her parents, her siblings, her only friends. All of them. Everyone. She'd managed to dig herself out of that self destructive rut, to gather what was left of her and made something out of the wreckage. She was healing, steadily. She was allowing cats to become close to her again. She refused to lose them, to be put back in such a state of squalor, to allow anyone else to be taken from her. So what if they thought it was unethical, it was RiverClan or it was ThunderClan, and in her mind, the answer was clear as day. "I'll stand behind you, as I always have. I accept."

{ThunderClan Camp, A Debt Repaid (canon typical levels of violence, gore)}

A small figure darted in the corner of her eye, heading straight for her and Palepaw whirled around to face the smaller cat, a paw extending to knock Cinderkit right in the face, a feral snarl rippling through her. Surely, she should be sticking to warriors, given her age and immense size would put any apprentice at a disadvantage, but this one seemed so eager to play with her, and who was she to deny such a bold little creature? She turned to face the cat that had attacked her. She wouldn't kill her, but she would definitely rough her up. She couldn't let her think she'd go easy because she was younger than her, she was still the enemy. "Well, you have my attention. Now what?"

[]

Palepaw watched Cinderkit scramble to get up and watched the pitiful little tears stream down her face and mingle with the blood and dirt. She'd never seen a battle before, had she? She even doubted she'd been given a lick of training prior to this. Rather than side stepping her swipe, she let the feeble attack hit her side, the claws catching and pulling her fur. Her lips pulled back into a sneer as she still hurled insults, even as she was very clearly outmatched. "You attacked me first. Don't start what you can't finish." She lurches forward, head coming forward to headbutt her. "If you're smart, you'll stay down. Life's coming at you hard kid, and there are lessons to be learned. Listen well, for next time life might not be so forgiving." And the next cat she cried her little tears at might not think twice about killing an untrained cat.

[]

The taste of fresh blood - cat blood - hit Palepaw's palette for the first time and the effect was like being struck by lightning. If the adrenaline hadn't already been running through her, it certainly would be now. And she hated it. She hated the way it tasted and the way it sat heavy on her tongue. She flinched as Tawnybird's pained howl rang out and she had to force herself to not step back, to not look away. She'd done this, and she had no right to back out now. She would have to live with what she was doing and what was already done. She watched him rush at her and in a daze she swiped a paw out at him, paw high above her head, remembering what Berryscorch had showed her. Putting all of her weight behind it, she tried to slam it into the warrior's head, ignoring his lunge at her.

[]

Palepaw wasn't sure to be pleased or disappointed that her strike against Tawnybird's skull hadn't been enough to kill him. She let him back away, not eager for the bloodshed to lead to death. She could live awhile more before she took a life. Nothing honorable about this fight.... Her ears twitched as he spoke, his words and continued familiarity still angering her. He didn't know her, and yet he still dared speak as of he did? Despite the rage simmering in her gut, she let him run away, she knew if she didn't kill him herself, the poison she'd left would get him, one way or another, even if he didn't die. Her eyes never leave him as he runs, not wanting to turn around and be caught off guard and attacked while she was leaving.

{Battle aftermath}

Coming in with the inflow of cats returning from the raid against ThunderClan, Palepaw was more than eager to turn in for the night and just go into a light coma. As many times as she'd trained with Berryscorch, as many days as she'd spent preparing herself for the inevitability of battle and the strains that came with it, no one had prepared her for the emotional toll it took. She could ignore the burning in her limbs, she'd pushed herself harder in practice; she could ignore the stinging aches of the few cuts she had, she'd been in more danger from her wounds from the gull she'd saved Petuniakit from. It wasn't the physical aspect she'd prepared herself for for so long that were bothering her. No one had prepared her for the way this had effected her emotionally, mentally. She hasn't stopped thinking about Tawnybird's warning or the screams as she'd snapped his leg. She hadn't stopped thinking about the apprentice she'd mauled, how defeated and broken she looked, dejected and humiliated. And she wasn't sure how she was going to deal with this and she hated how weak and vulnerable she felt. Battle was supposed to bring honor in knowing you were defending your Clan, your clanmates. She didn't know what she was supposed to do with this guilt. Numbly, she found herself seated amongst her clanmates, gazing up at Kestrelstar on the stones, something akin to resentment burning in her belly and regretting every emotion she felt

Flyfur

{Outskirts, A Withered Fly (slight ableism, a lot of hurt and very little comfort)}

Flyfur hadn't meant to be away for so long. She'd never meant to abandon her clan, her friends, and her family, but when existence felt like toommuch and she didn't want to force them to take care of her while she mourned, she'd secluded herself away. It was easier, she felt less guilty when she let her loss and grief consume her completely if there was no one to be a burden upon but herself, but as the days turned into moons, and she found she had the strength, the clarity to return home, she'd noticed her sight was failing her and worsening every day. She could barely see blurry figures as it was, and her hearing seemed to be going right along with it. Her age finally caught up to her, and now she couldn't bare to come home only to go straight to the elders den and be a further bother.... So she'd made a home for herself on her own, away from the clans and away from the two legs. It was a peaceful existence, if not also dull. As her senses continued to wither, she was forced to adapt and change her habits for her own continued survival. She slept the day away and prowled at night, when the worst of the predators kept to themselves. She found she enjoyed life this way, without the pressure of being relied upon, the stress of constantly worrying about skirmishes and politics. It was well worth how lonely it was. All was right in her world for a very long time. It was rare that others came into where she'd claimed as her new home, it was so detached from anything that might warrant company. It just meant every visitor was vividly memorized. She was trying to stave away the day, curled up in the tree hollow she'd carved for her nest when the newest visitor caught on her radar. Unlike the majority of the other cats, this one was familiar. It tickled the memories of her time in RiverClan and all that she had left behind. What was a clan cat doing so far out? She picked herself up and made her way into the open, keeping as low a profile she could with her limited self awareness, and crept closer to where the intruder was. As she neared, the scent becoming stronger, it became more familiar than just RiverClan scent. This was someone she'd met before, and not just a passerby. She could almost imagine their scent being masked by the smell of so many herbs and the damp, cold earth. But other than that, nothing about them seemed to call anything more specific. She crept closer, still, intending to speak with them if they didn't mind being friendly with a 'traitor', not covering the sounds of her movement anymore, but definitely not trying to broadcast where she was to everything in the vicinity.

[]

Flyfur's ear swivel foward as he speaks, her hearing just a bit better than her sight. Where her nose had failed to jog her memory, her hearing hadn't. Immediately she recognized him as Sparrowskip. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she made the connection with him about being RiverClan's medicine cat, but a more recent memory, a stronger one for her, and the reason she'd left RiverClan came to the forefront of her mind. She remembered the anguish of telling him his mother figure had been murdered, and that she hadn't been able to save her despite being right there. Another dull throb of misery made itself known in her chest. She wanted to laugh at the comment about her age. She was old, wasn't she? It never occured to her that most cats never lived her age, much less in as.... good condition as she used to be. And it was her condition that kept her from returning home. "I left after Sugarapple died. It was just.... the feather that broke the tree branch. I left to grieve, to find a reason to continue living without the worry of burdening my Clanmates. I was going to come back, but...." She turned away from where she'd been looking, and she hoped she'd been gazing at Sparrowskip and not blindly in an empty direction. "I cannot return to the Clan as I am. I left, it would be shameful if I returned, only to immediately turn into the elders den, unable to contribute." She turned back to where she had heard Sparrowskip, and as her head turned to face him, if he hadn't noticed them before, at their mention he might, her eyes a milky color from the cataracts that had grown on her eyes and the way they moved directionlessly, rather than on him. "My sight has gone and soon so will my hearing. I cannot in good faith return.... I'd just end up being another mouth to feed." The thought didn't sit well with her. She refused to be useless, to be the one that relied on others when for so long, she was the one relied upon. It didn't feel right to place such a burden on the family she'd left. "What's your excuse, little medicine cat? You hardly smell of RiverClan yourself. Undoubtedly, you've been away for awhile." She wanted to ask if he'd be returning soon.... but decided she'd let him come forth with that information on his own, if he wanted. It wasn't exactly any of her business. Flyfur couldn't help but hope he'd be willing to divulge this, hoped that he was, eventually. Perhaps he could be the one to give a message.

[]

Flyfur felt the way Sparrowskip flinched at the mention of Sugarapple. The memory was still a fresh and raw wound upon her own mind as well, but pretending it hadn't happened would change anything and it wouldn't make the loss any easier. She'd lost enough cats to know this by now. It was.... almost admirable the way he insisted she come back,, offered to care for her, even if they both knew he would never be able to juggle Clan duties and the care of an entire cat. Nor could she ask it of him. They didn't know each other and the only interactions they had had been wrought with pain and misery, in part, because of her. "I cannot ask that of you, little medicine cat, and you know it." Besides, she'd only be miserable, sitting around waiting for death to claim her, slowly being drawn farther and farther away from those around her as her senses continued to fail her. She didn't want to live in a world she couldn’t experience and take part in. It would be a most miserable existence, more painful than any death she could imagine. She let him continue uninterrupted, listening to his story, how he came to leave RiverClan, his memory gap, and how he came to be here. She wished she could help with that, but memory loss wasn't something she had experience with, and wouldn't know how to approach the topic, much less try to help him. She decided against addressing it. There wasn't much need to, either, at least. "I'm sure they will. They've taken back much less reputable cats, with worse stories than your own," her tone was cold and venomous, but not at Sparrowskip, but rather the memory of Lionstorm allowing a certain.... traitorous sire back into the clan. Surely, if they let that scum crawl on back, they'd give him a chance to prove himself. "I am rather hopeful that they will, but the Clan is still a distance away." She turned to head back to where she was taking refuge, motioning with her tail for Sparrowskip to follow. "I have shelter where you can stay before you continue of the last leg of your journey. You will need the rest." The offer wasn't entirely out of charity. She selfishly longed for company, if only a bit longer, to ease the loneliness she felt.

Coldamber

{Starcave, Snakepaw’s Medicine Cat ceremony (talk of religion, religious themes)}

Coldamber felt a surge of pride for the cat in front of her. Not too long ago Snakepaw would have likely scoffed and turned away, refusing to partake in Medicine Cat rituals. At one point she worried he would have turned away from his duties to serve his own purpose and yet, here he was, facing a destiny chosen by someone else that he never believed in, ready to give his all for this purpose. "I appreciate your belief in us as the still living, instead of looking to the dead for answers." She herself was guilty of this at times, growing tired of the bickering and emotions of her companions and seeking the guidance of someone intangible, an outside view to the situation. She approached him once more, now readying herself to give him his ceremony. "StarClan, spirits of our ancestors and the Medicine Cats that came before us. I call upon you to look upon this cat in front of me. He has trained in the ways of a Medicine Cat and I feel him worthy to take his place as another among our rank in the name as a Medicine Cat in full." These were not the words to be spoken. You were to implore that StarClan find the cat worthy, but.... she didn't care what they thought. She didn't need someone else to tell her that he was ready, was worthy of his position. He had grown so much and she wouldn't let anyone take this away from him. This was his moment. "Snakepaw, do you promise to uphold the Medicine Code and heal your Clan in times of both peace and strife?" This was it. His answer would solidify his status as a Medicine Cat and he'd be one his own, more or less. Being in different Clans..... meant they could only train so much and at certain times. She wished she could sweep him away, take him under her wing in WindClan instead, give him a better future..... but what future was there for WindClan or for Snakepaw in WindClan? She felt powerless and she hated that. What happened to her pride? Her happiness in how far he'd come? Where had this anxiety come from?

[]

Coldamber leaned foward and pressed her nose to Snakepaw's forehead. "Then by the authority vested in me, Snakepaw, from this moment foward, you will be known as Snakeheart," she leaned back a bit, eyes shining. "May you carry foward with my blessing as RiverClan's new Medicine Cat and know that I'll always be proud of you and just how far you've come." She allowed herself to drop the formal airs she had donned and leaned foward to pressed her shoulder into his, enwrapping him in a hug and a final word of advice before they parted ways, though she hoped they might speak without the weight of duty hanging over them. "Your road ahead is long. Don't be afraid to find others to trust. Make friends wherever you can, my dear." She lifted her head briefly to look directly at the stars, challenging them to say otherwise, as if they could answer her, to shun her for not seeking their blessing before naming this cat. But they did not answer, they only winked back at her. With the lack or resistance, she let herself relax and the tension ease from her mind. There would be no opposition for her Snakeheart. Not today.

{WindClan Camp, Savagery and the Parental Bonding in That (mentions of cannibalism, mentions of genetic cleansing, mentions of animal death, mentions of infant death)}

Coldamber was, at first, very confused when Shrikepaw strutted up to her, smug grin on his face, a look that suggested he'd gotten away with something particularly dastardly. She blinked at him for awhile, ears- or rather ear- swiveling forward to listen to him. It didn't take long for his word to settle in her heart like a heavy weight. She knew nothing of WindClan being cannibalistic, if they ever were, it was before she had been accepted into the Clan and definitely before she'd stepped up as Medicine Cat. Though some of the words upset her..... more than anything it confused her why he was coming up to her to prattle all this nonsense. She cocked her head at him, deciding she'd be turning the tables on him. Words are words, and shouldn't be let to get to your head, no matter how much they hurt. She pushed aside the words that hurt and focused on him. I never saw you as someone who would care about such things, but I guess everyone has their suprises," she smiled to punctuate her sentence; a fake, bright grin aimed to infuriate and baffle. ShadowClan hated kindness, from her observations, and she'd be using that against them as best she could. "Though, I'm surprised you don't know that the rules of cannibalism are the same as eating normal prey," she gave another big, toothy grin and took a few steps closer to Shrikepaw, her movement curving to begin to pace around him, stopping at his side. "You don't eat anything sick, with an infection, or that's been poisoned. The Medicine Den is a poor place to take your pickings." She let her anger show in the lashing of her tail, but otherwise tried to keep her expression neutral, failing to keep the blaze out of her eyes as she stared at him. Alright, he had her at that one. Genetic cleansing wasn't a new concept to her. She'd seen plenty of her own kits snuffed for imperfections by her Den Folk, for lesser reasons than past injuries and physical deformities. "Bold of you to include myself in that list, tiny, when you have no idea how I came to lose my leg." She bared her teeth at him in a snarl. She hated remembering that, hated remembering the desperate conclusion she came to, to either die painfully from a spreading infection or the pain of chewing her own leg off. She'd never.... really told anyone about it, no matter how many times it haunted her sleep.

{WindClan Territory, And They Run (hurt no comfort)}

Of course she had noticed the visiting RiverClan Medicine Cat. Even without her memories to know as much, he held himself differently than they did, smelled differently and it was more than the earthy, herbal smell, no doubt from his time spent around his own herb storage (had she herself had a similar scent when she worked with herbs?), but also the underlaying bite of salt and sea spray, of undergrowth and reeds, clustered, more complicated and mixed than the smell of the cats around her. She couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity when he passed by her and the looks he gives all but confirm this. Yet he seemed to be avoiding her and the more she might try to reach him, the more he seemed to delve into the work to be done around camp, the more he seemed to be intent on avoiding her. No doubt he knew about her memory loss, Twilightstar would have undoubtedly told him about it. Perhaps it was why he had come at all. It became more difficult once Peachfrost was name Medicine Cat and he needed to teach her, seemingly eager to leave now that they had a replacement. She finally managed to catch him alone, and seemingly in no hurry to escape. She suddenly wondered if he'd only been busy, and she was nothing more than a harrassment, constantly nagging at him for his attention, just never catching him at the right time. "Snakeheart.... yes? I've been meaning to talk to you." Coldamber couldn't help the touch of warmth she felt for him, to be able to speak to him, some part of her soothed and comforted being near the young healer.

[]

Coldamber carefully watched Snakeheart as he spoke, her own gut twisting uncomfortably as her emotion struck her mercilessly and considered what he had told her. She.... wasn't sure why she came, other than she.... felt she remembered him, at least in part. She might not remember him, but she remembered just how much he meant to her. She didn't know if her words would bring him any sort of comfort or if they'd only make his own dinner turmoil worse and maybe he'd turn away from her after all, but she couldn't help that she felt he deserved her honesty. "It's true, I don't remember you, but I remember that I loved you." Pure, innocent, motherly love. A love that seemed to be missing from the relationship between her and her own daughter. She didn't want to squander what little love she may have left in this world. It already seemed so bleak and harsh.

{WindClan Territory; Confrontation of Neglect (hurt no comfort, mentions of child negligence)}

Coldamber didn't know where to look as Gulltwist spoke of the things she'd done, the way she time and time again neglected her, always busy with something else, putting her to the side. She couldn't believe this cat she was being told about had been her at one point. Even as the tabby paused, she realized there was still more to this story, because this only covered what happened before her apprenticehood, and notably hadn't mentioned anything about her time as a Medicine Cat. She dreaded what more she might have done. "You don't have to continue, this is obviously.... it hurts. You needn't put yourself through this to sate my curiosity. I didn't realize. It was selfish of me to ask." She was hurting because of her, hurting in ways she'd never understand. and she couldn't take it back She wanted to apologize, but no number of apologies could fix the damage she'd caused and no apology could ever mean anything if she couldn't remember doing it. So long as she felt detached from those actions, her regrets were worthless. Selfishly, she wanted to know more anyway, wanted to hear her crimes so she might atone for them, but her more empathetic nature made her hesitant to ask Gulltwist to continue.

[]

Coldamber listens to Gulltwist continue, staying silent herself as she processed what she was told. She couldn't believe this cat being spoken about was her, that she'd do such a thing. Why would she have had to give up her family? Why was she forced to choose between serving the Clan and her daughter? And why had she chosen to keep the position if they'd had another healer? It was confusing and she hated the way it made her feel, so broken and vulnerable. She didn't want to be feeling this way. She hung her head and looked away. She couldn't look her in the eyes. An apology seemed empty and held no meaning. She wanted to know what she'd been thinking to make her choose what she had. "Why did I have to choose? What was stopping me from doing my duty and trying to be your mother?" That she'd had to make such a choice was..... foolish. She couldn't think of a reason she couldn't have been both, no real reason one should have interfered with the other. "I hate what I've done to you and I wish any apology I could give wasn't so meaningless. I cannot imagine why Twilightstar has you training me with our history..... but I'm glad you're taking the time to do it anyway." With her curiosity stated, that same selfish part of her now wanted to grow closer to the daughter she could have had, to try and heal what she'd broken in the first place.

#warrior cats #warrior cats writing #warrior cats ocs #WCO #Warrior Cat Online #editing this was a nightmare #i cannot believe how much time went the copy pasting alone #its not plagarism if its my own writing right?#i'm probably going to have an anxiety attack shortly after I post this

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jakey-beefed-it · 4 years

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Trying to catalogue the ol’ comorbid disorders a bit so maybe i can do something about some of them possibly. Under a cut because hoo boy, not an exciting or fun analysis.

definitely have depression. prozac makes it better. not good. but better. manageable. no longer aggressively want to die. just sort of low-key don’t care if i do a lot of the time. sometimes forget that i have a physical form and am briefly almost happy. then see self in mirror or have difficulty fitting into a booth at a restaurant or smth and suddenly want to crawl into a hole and die

definitely have massive body-image issues (rimshot... see because.... massive body... because... it’s a fat joke... anyhow). sometimes wonder if i’m on the asexual spectrum but then remember how things were for me as a horndog teenager and probably it’s just that i’ve got a suppressed libido due to weight, depression, antidepressants, and overwhelming tsunamis of shame whenever i think about my body in any way shape or form

definitely have anxiety. plagued by nightmares and disrupted sleep and have like 2 full on anxiety attacks in any given year where i feel like i’m having a goddamn heart attack but heart attacks don’t respond to biofeedback, ya know? also, apparently, have night terrors such that i scream in my sleep. which is. kinda funny, in a humiliating way.

have been diagnosed as bipolar in the past but don’t really have proper manic phases anymore. at worst, have mixed states where brain is going very fast... about how much it hates me/itself/everything. less ‘mania’ and more ‘high-speed depression’. might not be bipolar actually based on -

almost certainly have adhd based on like... everything ...but reluctant to go and get a diagnosis and treatment because i’m so full of self-loathing that i feel like i don’t ‘deserve’ to get treated for being a useless sack of shit/due to just generally low self-esteem which is... wait for it... a symptom of adhd

apparently adults with adhd are like... pretty regularly misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder. because they’re obviously depressed (being brainweird is depressing and alienating) but also often hyperfocus and such.

anyhow yeah. almost certainly have adhd, basically tick every single box but especially hyperfocus but especially rejection-sensitive dysphoria. i’ve gottan a much better handle on responding to creative rejection or perceived rejection with anger but that sure did used to be a thing for Young and Craziest Jake between like 18 and 24 who had NO idea what the hell was wrong with him but it sure was a LOT. i always had a pretty solid handle on interpersonal rejection in that it would make me feel shitty (sinking, cold, numb chest, physical pain) but i would respond with ‘oh.’ and try to get the fuck out of that social interaction asap rather than being an entitled asshole about it. but hoo boy did i used to view any perceived slight on my creative pursuits as like, a thrown gauntlet. i’m much better about that nowadays at least! just reacting with ‘oh’ and wanting to get the fuck out is more eusocial than being a prick about it.

anyhow basically perceive self as fundamentally loathsome and disgusting, inside and out, without merit or value, and so naturally all pursuits that bring fleeting distraction from that are prized but can turn to ashes real goddamn fast if they’re not *quite* distracting enough and i have a moment of self-perception. while, say, painting miniatures- the image of a hunched and stinking sack of lard making ugly expressions with an ugly face while concentrating entirely too much on something utterly irrelevant. can ruin it for days. not even sure if that qualifies as anhedonia (which is another big thing i DO suffer from) as opposed to like... anti-hedonia whereby all my hobbies just remind me of what a piece of shit i see myself as. to the point where the other day i was strongly tempted to take the sisters of battle minis i’m currently working on and just smash them to bits in a fit of misplaced rage. they’re plastic, it’s not them i hate, it’s my damn self, and so destroying something that i put a lot of work into offers the promise of brief catharsis without more direct self-harm. suppressed the urge thankfully- learned how to do that the hard way over the past decades, too. the aftermath is always achingly regretful and not at all cathartic.

anyway. this situation. it’s not good, obviously. should really do something about it. maybe seek adhd diagnosis. maybe try to work on self-acceptance both mental and physical. that’s incredibly difficult though. to unlearn years and years of messages from within (and without, sometimes) that i’m unacceptable. have tried improving, have had some success in becoming better person, have had no success in giving a shit about that and still focus on all the negatives.

tl;dr this is basically that dumb nietzche quote ‘acute crisis; in bed all week’ that people meme on except instead of being in bed i’ve been having difficulty staying asleep and instead sort of standing around like

which admittedly is something i do kind of a lot hence my fuckening icon but yeah. acute crisis.

nothing anyone can do about it but maybe me, so i guess i’d better either do that or try and work into a hyperfixation so i can put this all aside for a while and just be in the zone.

#boring personal bullshit

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theartofdreaming1 · 4 years

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Advent Calendar Fic Rec 2019, Day 21

This time, it’s not a Batfam-based one-shot... But I finally finished the next chapter of my DickBabs Fanfic, “Partners”, a police officer AU! :) You can also check this chapter out on Ao3.

Partners - Part 7: Revelations

Pairing: DickBabs

Rating: T

Summary: Barbara finally tells Dick what that mysterious letter contained.

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The Revelation

“Huh?” Dick stared at Barbara, a look of utter confusion on his face.

Barbara took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. She then repeated: “There is something I’ve got to tell you.”

At this point, Dick had recovered from his initial reaction and the expression of bewilderment that had been displayed on his face before was now replaced by a more serious one, wordlessly urging Barbara on to continue.

Before she could begin, there was another gust of wind of the chilly night air and while Barbara tried to hide the shiver it caused her, it didn’t escape Dick’s notice.

“Let’s get back inside,” he proposed, gently ushering Barbara into the pleasantly warm bedroom.

Once inside, Barbara sat down on Dick’s bed with a sigh, ready to begin and get this pesky, not-so-little something off her chest.

“I hadn’t meant to bring this up tonight because I didn’t want to ruin the evening,” Barbara began nervously, feeling a little defensive.

But when she caught a glimpse of the expression on her partner’s face, Barbara was relieved to find that there was nothing judgemental in the way he looked at her, only honest curiosity. With her heavy heart feeling a little lighter now, Barbara continued:

“There is something I’ve been neglecting to tell you - something I’ve been trying to ignore for my own sake as well, if I’m being honest…”

The redhead halted, not sure how to go on.

Since she was being honest about this ugly little thing that was bothering her, Barbara figured that she might as well be honest about the nicer things, too. It only felt fair.

“Dick, you inviting me to this party as your plus one really meant a lot to me and I was really looking forward to tonight,” a shy smile appeared on her face before she resumed more gravely, “which is why I haven’t told you about this before. But I just realized that it’s not fair of me to keep this to myself - not when you have been so open with me this entire time, and here I am, keeping secrets from you-”

“Secrets?” Dick knitted his eyebrows.

“Well, one secret,” Barbara clarified, nervously picking at the bedspread, “but a big one. I should have told you sooner, but I just… I just wanted us to have good time tonight, not being weighed down by my stupid mistake-”

Dick still looked confused.

“I have no idea what this is about,” he admitted haltingly, before assuring her, “but you can tell me. No matter what it is.”

The earnest expression on Dick’s face was all the encouragement Barbara needed to lay bare the source of her distress:

“The day you invited me to this ball, I found an envelope from anonymous in my locker, addressed to me personally, telling me in big black letters to “open in private”.

Dick’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything.

Barbara then went on:

“Inside the envelope there was a letter - more of a message, actually: Telling me that the author of this note had been watching me closely and in light of recent events wanted to give me a chance to prove my loyalty to my badge. If I was seriously dedicated, I am to come to Saint Dennis church this coming Wednesday evening, where it will be decided if I am to join their ranks.”

Dick stared at Barbara.

“‘ Their ranks’ ?” he repeated carefully.

Barbara nodded.

Her partner quirked an eyebrow.

“That seems to imply that there are multiple people involved.”

“Yeah,” Barbara agreed, “it certainly sounds like it.”

Dick took another moment to mull over what he had learned so far.

The expression on his face was most serious when he addressed Barbara again: “You think that ‘in light of recent events’ refers to-” “My entanglement with Richter’s ‘early retirement ’? Yeah, I think so.”

Deep in thought, Dick only nodded wordlessly, still processing, before asking Barbara: “Do you think that the sergeant from the 1-9 has something to do with this?”

“Rohrbach? I think it’s not unlikely.”

Intense concentration was etched on Dick’s face. Then, he looked at Barbara, his dark blue eyes razor-sharp:

“This could be a trap. To get you to admit to what you have pulled on Richter… To get rid of you.”

Barbara returned Dick’s stare calmly: “Yes.”

“And you’re going to go?” Dick asked, his eyes never wavering from hers.

Barbara already knew that Dick wasn’t going to like her answer.

“Yes.”

Dick closed his eyes, turning slightly away. He hunched over and let out a long and deep groan, his hands dragging over his face.

“Goddammit,” Barbara could hear Dick mumble under his breath.

She gnawed nervously on her lower lip, dreading what had to come next:

“There’s more,” she said haltingly.

Dick gazed up at her, incredulous: “More?”

“The message also said… it said that I could bring my partner - mentioned you by name - if I chose to; but nobody else was to know about and come to this meeting.”

Dick just kept on looking at Barbara as if he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop: “And?”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

But Dick remained unperturbed.

“Yeah, it means that I can come with you if you let me - that’s the least distressing thing you have told me so far…”

Barbara couldn’t believe how Dick could be so oblivious to the distressing implications of what she had just told him: “They mentioned you… By name!!! Whoever they are, they know all about you!”

Feeling responsible for getting her partner involved into this mess, Barbara hung her head in shame, a stray strand of hair falling in her face.

Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears:

“I’m sorry, Dick, I didn’t mean to drag you into this. Richter was my mistake, not yours!”

“Babs,” Dick said softly, gently cupping her face, “you didn’t drag me into anything - I was the one who didn’t listen to you and went into that abandoned building without any backup in the first place... I was the one who got caught in the line of fire… You were the one who stopped me from saying something stupid to Richter that could have made everything way worse… I’m in this as much as you are.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Sure I do - we are partners. You have my back and I’ve got yours.”

He’d said all of this completely matter-of-factly, his voice now adopting a more pleading quality: “And as your partner, I’m asking you to please let me come with you to that meeting - I’d rather stand by your side than have you face this alone - if you’re okay with that.”

A wave of relief washed over Barbara. Despite her fierce resolve to go to that meeting and deal with whatever consequences that it would bring with it, she hadn’t realized how much she had hoped to have Dick’s support through all of this. Still, it was important to her to make one thing clear:

“You really, really don’t have to come with me,” she insisted forcefully.

She could see Dick getting ready to protest against her assertion most fervently, making it impossible for her to suppress the fond smile forming on her lips as she reached for his hand, “But I’m more than okay with you coming with me - there’s nobody I would rather want by my side.”

The indignation in Dick’s eyes turned into something softer, warmer: “Good.”

For a short moment, the two of them just looked at each other, tender smiles on both their faces.

Soon, Dick’s smile turned back into that goofy, endearing smile Barbara had come to love over the months of their partnership.

“Now, since we still have plenty of time for you to let me in on that great battle plan I’m sure you’ve already formulated over the course of these past few days-”

Barbara couldn’t help but chuckle: “You know me so well.”

“- and the entire point of today’s evening was to enjoy ourselves and forget about your mysterious message for a moment-”

“Very true.”

“I’ll venture to ask: Could I interest you in some more kissing before we resume our tour of Wayne Manor’s best sock surfable hallways?”

Despite the bravado of his words, Barbara could see the shy nervousness in Dick’s eyes.

A bright grin stretched across her lips.

“You can.”

***

The Circle *²

It was early Wednesday evening, mere minutes before the mysterious meeting was about to take place - Dick and Barbara were sitting in her car, right across Saint Dennis church, eyes fixed on the imposing architectural structure in nervous anticipation.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Dick asked gently. “If you want to call it off, that’s fine, too.”

Barbara’s eyes were still glued to the neo-gothic building.

“No, I’m sure… I want to know, I need to know where this is all gonna lead to,” she found herself saying, her voice carrying far more conviction in it than she currently felt.

She finally tore her gaze away from the church, looking over at her partner instead:

“How about you? I meant it when I said that you don’t have to come with me.”

Dick smiled.

“Well, and I meant it when I said that I’d rather stand by your side than have you face this alone.”

And with that, he reached over the console and took her hand in his. Barbara gave Dick a nervous smile. She glanced once more at the church, then looked back at her partner, when she felt a gentle, reassuring squeeze around her fingers. Her fraying nerves calmed a bit at the gesture. No matter what awaited her behind the church doors, it was nice to know she didn’t have to face it on her own.

She squeezed Dick’s hand in return, earning her an unwavering, warm smile from her partner.

Go time.

Entering the church, they found it to be empty except for the two people talking quietly to each other in the chancel, the area around the altar. Their quiet conversation came to an immediate stop when the heavy door thunked shut, announcing Barbara and Dick’s presence. Barbara could feel her heart beating faster. Nevertheless, she kept on walking towards the two individuals, the sound of her and Dick’s footsteps on the stone floor echoing eerily. Upon their approach, Barbara recognized that one of the people they were heading for was Sergeant Amy Rohrbach, causing the tension in her muscles to lessen.

Suspecting that Rohrbach might be involved with the mysterious message she had received, Barbara had put in the time and effort to find out more about the sergeant from the 1-9. After digging through a plethora of files and reports, she hadn’t found anything that would even remotely suggest that Rohrbach was not an exemplary police officer. Indeed, only one incident in the track record detailing the sergeant’s career had caught Barbara’s eye - and interestingly enough, it had involved officers Hicks and Richter.

The most peculiar thing about said report was that there was nothing concrete to be gained from studying it: The case had involved busting Juan Ricardo Banez, a known drug dealer, at his girlfriend’s home. Simple enough - but the exact circumstances of said bust were shrouded in mystery. All that Barbara had been able to find out was that some shots had been fired from both Rohrbach’s and Richter’s guns, the perp had wound up dead and Richter had taken a medical leave subsequently. It was the bag with half a million dollars that had been filed as evidence, her thorough knowledge of Richter’s history of taking bribes and collecting money for the mob, as well as her and Dick’s own run-in with Richter and Hicks just a few weeks ago, that allowed Barbara to piece together a pretty plausible scenario of what must have gone down that day… And if she was right, Barbara had no reason to think that Amy Rohrbach was setting her and Dick up right now…

“Gordon! I knew that you wouldn’t pass up on this opportunity,” the sergeant greeted Barbara friendly, her keen brown eyes soon flickering over to Dick - “and as I can see, you’ve decided to bring your partner along.”

Dick took this statement as a cue to introduce himself, shaking hands with Amy. On the outside, he was all friendly smiles and easy-going charm, but Barbara knew her partner was actually on high alert, making note of the smallest detail that could be helpful in unravelling the enigma their current situation proved to be.

After shaking Dick’s hand, Amy went on to introduce the elderly man next to her as Father Mike, who greeted Dick and Barbara warmly.

“He was kind enough to offer the back room of his church as our base of operations,” the sergeant explained, unfortunately neglecting to mention what this “base of operations” was actually for.

“Well, now that you’re both here, we might as well get started,” Amy said energetically, making a parting gesture toward Father Mike before motioning for Dick and Barbara to come along with her: “Follow me, the others are already here.”

Dick and Barbara exchanged a meaningful look behind Amy’s back.

When it came to Rohrbach herself, Barbara felt she had a good understanding of the sergeant’s character - the company that police woman kept, however, was still a different story.

Rohrbach lead the two partners to an unassuming door to the side of the room. The sergeant opened it, revealing a small, dimly lit room, with four indistinct figures already inside. The four shadows were seated along the long side of a medium-sized table that had been squeezed inside the small space, making Barbara feel like she was at a really bizarre film noir job interview.

The trio’s arrival was met with unintelligible mumbling, that soon was replaced by complete silence.

Dick was the first to speak, breaking the uncomfortable silence that was hanging in the air like cold cigarette smoke: “Soo… what is this, exactly?”

One of the silhouette-like figures stirred, a rough, deep voice rasping: “It’s an initiation, son.”

“And if you don’t pass, it’ll go hard on you,” another voice was quick to add.

A third voice practically growled: “We don’t like taking chances.”

“But Amy vouches for you,” chimed in the last person of this mysterious quartet, the voice suggesting a female.

Barbara strained her eyes, trying to recognize any of the people they were facing – why was it so damn dark in here? And why, for the love of god, could nobody get to the effing point?!

Fortunately, Amy seemed to have taken pity on Barbara's thinly-worn patience:

“We’re like a police force inside the police force, you see,” the sergeant said, sending a wry smile in Dick and Barbara's direction,”as I'm sure you have noticed, there are a lot of cops in this town that appear to be under the impression that they can do as they please – as long as the price is right. But our little group here,” Amy gestured towards her fellow conspirators, “we have made it our goal to remind those who abuse their position and privilege that they are not above the law.”

Barbara felt relief rushing over her - she had been right in trusting her gut; Amy Rohrbach was one of the few good cops in Blüdhaven. And even better - there were more! Certainly, they weren’t legion, but even a small group had a better chance at cleaning up the corrupt police force than she and Dick on their own.

“It's a risky business, though,” Amy was quick to remind them, continuing in a warning tone, “should our plans come to light before they are seen through, anyone involved with them would be dead meat.”

The sergeant looked sternly at the potential new recruits for her cause.

“Just, keep that in mind… Now, are you guys in?”

Barbara's eyes darted over to Dick's, the two partners sharing a single, determinant look that left no room for doubt that they were on the same page-

“Yes,” was their unison reply.

Amy smiled triumphantly: “I thought so.”

“Welcome aboard,” the raspy voice from before piped up, now sounding a lot friendlier than it had before.

With the flick of a switch, Amy turned on the bare light bulb of the tiny back room, finally revealing the four other members of this little circle.

“Please, let me introduce you to Blüdhaven’s few proud and, most importantly, honest cops.”

And just like that, Dick and Barbara made acquaintance with tall and gangly Officer Zircher from the 15th precinct, Sergeant Dixon from the 2-3 (his kind eyes and friendly smile a stark contrast to his hulking physique and gravelly voice), tough-as-nails Lieutenant McDaniel from the 1-8 and young, but fiery Officer Leonardi from Amy’s precinct (the young Italian American woman had started her stint at the BPD only three months before Dick had joined Barbara’s precinct).

Dick and Barbara were readily welcomed by their more seasoned teammates.

“The more cops we bring into the circle, the stronger a case we can bring to the feds,” Zircher pointed out eagerly, his slim face adorned with a lopsided grin.

“You guys have joined us at a very opportune time,” Amy informed Dick and Barbara energetically, ”we finally have found a DA who is willing to pursue this, as long as there is enough evidence to build a solid case-”

“A case Chief Redhorn won’t be able to slip out of,” McDaniel grumbled darkly.

Amy nodded.

“Exactly. Since the problem of corruption reaches up to the very top of the chain, Flores won’t make his move until we have an airtight case that will allow him not only to go after small fry such as Hannity and Hicks, but also make it possible for him to indict Redhorn for his crimes.”

Amy paused for a moment, then turned to Dick and Barbara, fixing them with one of her piercing stares:

“And this is where you two come in.”

***

Teaching Moment *³

Even with their secret mission going on, Dick and Barbara still had to deal with the usual day-to-day of their job.

Today, they had the pleasure of sorting out a reported noise complaint. What should have been a simple affair, was dragged out unnecessarily once the neighbors of the offender had felt compelled to weigh in on the whole ordeal, leading to a heated dispute on the stairs - which, ironically, ended up being way louder than the music blasting from inside the respective apartment.

Once the situation had calmed down and all the inhabitants had returned to their apartments, Dick and Barbara finally left the building, ready to get back to their cruiser.

On their way back to the car, Dick and Barbara could see that a group of four boys had gathered around it - or rather: three of the approximately eleven-year-old kids were standing around the car, while the fourth one was standing atop the hood.

Seeing the two police officers coming their way caused a certain amount of commotion among the kids.

“Kenny, get down! Here they come,” a boy in a red hoodie warned his friend.

But Kenny appeared to be unfazed.

“I ain’t doing nuthin’ wrong!”the kid insisted, his balled up fists raised as if to fight.

Barbara suppressed a sigh; she really didn’t feel like quarelling with an eleven-year-old today.

Dick, apparently, didn’t seem to mind:

“Actually, you are,” he argued with Kenny, gesturing towards the kid’s hands, “if you take a swing at me like that, you’re gonna break your thumbs.”

Surprised, the boy looked down at his hands, inspecting the way his other fingers curled around the thumbs of each hand.

Meanwhile, Dick approached Kenny calmly and Barbara couldn’t help but be impressed by the way her partner had managed to defuse the tense situation with a simple remark.

By the time Dick had gotten to Kenny and his friends, the kids gathered around the cruiser only stared at him curiously, their resentment from before - gone.

“Keep ‘em out, like this,” Dick explained, gently adjusting the position of Kenny’s fingers, making sure that the thumbs were outside the balled fist.

He then put his palms up, facing the boy: “Okay, now try”

Excitedly, Kenny punched against Dick’s palms.

Dick grinned approvingly: “There you go! Good job!”

He then lifted Kenny off the car hood. The boy smiled widely.

“Thanks.”

The boys scampered off soon after, although Barbara could still hear their delighted chattering until they rounded the corner down the street: “my turn!”, “hit me, Kenny, hit me!”

Barbara quirked an eyebrow at her partner while they were both getting back into the car, a teasing smirk on her lips: “Making the world safe for disciplined violence everywhere?”

Dick just shrugged his shoulders.

“I prefer to think of it as teaching finesse and self-respect.”

Barbara smiled and started the engine to resume their patrol.

“You were really good with those kids,” she acknowledged in a more earnest manner.

Again, Dick simply shrugged, making a dismissive gesture with his hands, “Practice - when I was still bartending at Hogan’s, waiting and hoping to get into the BPD, I spent some afternoons at the gym in zee mores, teaching kids some basic self-defense lessons.”

Barbara only shook her head, smiling fondly at her partner.

“How do you manage to fit your halo under that hat, Grayson?”

Dick grinned flirtatiously: “Same way you fit all that brain power under yours, I presume.”

“Flatterer.”

Dick gave her a playful wink, then went on to look out of the window to keep an eye on the street.

“So, what are the plans for the evening?,” he asked casually.

Barbara’s eyes flitted over to her partner.

“Well, I kinda planned on spending it checking out some stuff for Amy - why, did you have any different ideas?”

Dick grinned.

“Well, actually... I thought we could spend a nice evening in, something along dinner and a movie - but how about we combine those two?,” Dick proposed, continuing quickly before Barbara could disagree,”You could focus on working on the thing for Amy while I’m fixing us up some dinner, then, during dinner, you can fill me in on what you’ve found out and, depending how late it’ll be by then, we can check out something on Netflix or something along those lines-”

“Something like the new Brooklyn Nine-Nine episodes?,” Barbara suggested teasingly.

Dick ducked his head sheepishly.

“That could be an option... if you insist on it.”

Barbara let out a laugh: “Sure, because I’m the one usually insisting on it.”

She was met with a goofy smile.

“But you know what,” Barbara said, after carefully considering his suggestion,”I think that’s a really good idea.”

“Don’t know why you sound so surprised,” Dick said with a fake pout,”I’m full of good ideas.”

Barbara nodded knowingly,“You’re full of something, all right.”

“Hey!”

They spend the rest of their shift bickering back and forth.

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to be continued... here

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Notes

*² Nightwing #60: The "initiation" at Saint Dennis Church happens in this issue (although Dick thinks that he gets a chance at infiltrating the corrupt cops after acting like taking a bribe wouldn't be too bad - Amy immediately sees through Dick's tough-guy-act, seeing him for the goody-two-shoes he is and instead introduced him to the circle) Nightwing #69: The "incident" between Amy and Richter is from said issue (meanwhile, Dick is in Gotham, helping out Alfred and Tim in the "Bruce Wayne - Murderer?" story arc); Amy is part of the raid out to get Banez, but once Richter suggests taking the money for themselves, hinting that killing Banez and his girlfriend would rid them of any potential witnesses, the situation escalates into a shoot-out between Amy and Richter, during which Banez dies and Richter and Amy get slightly hurt; DA Flores: Mateo Flores, the DA working together with Amy and the gang. He's also the brother of Catalina Flores, the new Tarantula... who is not going to make an appearance in this fic because... no. Just no. (I did not like that storyline at all.)

Zircher, Dixon, McDaniel & Leonardi: I don't think the police officers in the circle are ever mentioned by name, so I just chose the names of some of the most important Nightwing writers and artists from the Pre-New 52 run (and I made Leonardi into a woman, because... well, there are just too few women in those stories and that just won't do ;)

*³ Nightwing #71: Dick interacting with Kenny and his friends is a cute scene from that issue, I just had to include that here; Dick giving a self-defense class in zee mores is also from that issue, although that one is aimed at adults and where we meet Catalina Flores and... well, I decided to change it up Nightwing #142: We see Dick teaching kids how to fly on the trapeze during his time in New York, so I combined both of these instances of Dick teaching into him teaching self-defense to kids

#dickbabs #dickbabs fic #dick grayson #barbara gordon #advent calendar 2019 #advent calendar fanfic 2019 #advent calendar 2019: day 21 #i write sometimes #my fics: partners

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imnotcrazyidontthink · 5 years

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UNTITLED.

I want to share a situation that happened to me this year.

A situation were I felt shame, embarrassment and was tested on all the hard work that I had put into myself.

In the last few years I have always been ok with sharing my story. In fact, surprisingly I felt more comfortable the more times I would share. It kinda started to feel easy.

So, one day I was in a meeting telling my story and out of nowhere, I broke down, literally ballin’ and fuck knows where it came from. I tired to pull it back but i just couldn’t, I literally had to take a moment to collect myself. Deep breathes to stop myself from hyperventilating hahahaha. I have to laugh at myself cos I was a mess lol. Anyway….Sometimes you can go onto auto pilot when sharing the same story over and over again, but when I was telling the story this time, It was like I was telling myself the story. I was really listening to it. Like I was hearing this story for the first time. I felt everything.I think the realization of everything I had gone through, all the pain, all the hurt, HOW FAR I’VE COME, all that I have been through, and despite everything, I REFUSED TO GIVE UP.

I won’t lie I did feel insecure after the meeting. I was a little worried that I looked like an emotional wreck. but that being said, I decided to let myself feel good about it, because I was just being me, honest, real and I felt that I really got who I was across and how important this was to me. In fact the more I thought about it I kinda felt proud of myself for being so vulnerable and putting it all out there. It was Kind of empowering.

The next day I was on my way to another meeting where I would be doing pretty much the same thing as the day before. Introducing myself blah blah blah….

But before I went in it was recommended to me that I pull back my story and pull back my emotions. I was told it was way too much for people and that it was making them feel uncomfortable. This hit me so hard. It really took me by surprise and upset me to be honest. It made me FEEL STUPID AND INSECURE, not to mention really embarrassed and just in general made me feel like I WAS BEING JUDGED. I was feeling all of the things that made me hide who I was for so many years and stopped me from getting the help I needed for so many years. To be told to suppress my emotions and refrain from explaining the emotional connection to these new songs of mine was like slap in the face and it was so hard to hear this. I literally felt so fucking stupid.

I felt bad about myself, I questioned what I was doing, and I even thought that people wouldn’t want to work with me because I am an “emotional wreck”. I really felt I had over shared, and then started thinking omg everyone who I have told this story to are prob all laughing at me..... all these thoughts... All because of one person’s opinion. It’s crazy what one persons opinion can do to someone.

Before I went into that meeting, I seriously did consider pulling back, not going as deep, wash it down a little. yeah..... I really did consider it, but then I just thought to myself no. No I shouldn’t have to do that. I have spent way to much of my life pretending and I’m not going to do that anymore. If it makes you feel uncomfortable then that is ultimately your problem not mine, and you do not have to come.It took a moment to realize this but I’m glad I did because THIS IS ME!

This is who I am. If I break down, it’s because it hurts. It’s because it’s real. This isn’t pretend. This is my reality! My truth! And I am not sorry you cant handle that.I’m tired of pretending, smiling and saying I’m ok when I’m not. I am so fucking proud of myself that I can sit here and be my own authentic self. It takes real courage to be honest, truthful and to ask for help.

I want to help people. I want to share my life with people. I want others to know they are not alone because too many people in this world are suffering in silence. People are killing themselves. Taking their own lives because of society’s standards and judgmental ways. Feeling they have to hide what they really feel. This has to stop. We have to speak up. Fuck it if we break down. Fuck it if they think we are crazy and fuck it if they want to judge.

We need to practice acceptance of one another. We have to try and help each other. Listen to each other. Pick each other up when we can’t ourselves. Be kind. Be understanding. It costs nothing and makes such a difference in people’s lives. You literally could save someone before it’s too late. Don’t be left thinking IF ONLY we had listened harder, looked deeper, and been more genuinely interested in someone else’s welfare, before its too late. Show them love and that you are there for them and that it’s ok not to be ok. I know it’s not always possible to get it right. but if we all just tried a little, the impact would be huge.

Living with mental illness is fucking hard. It’s a daily battle and it’s on top of all the other daily battles we face in this thing we call life. It’s silent. It’s deadly. You don’t always know when someone is in trouble. Some people manage to get through depression periods, and some people have to deal with a mental illness for the rest of their lives. All of these people are incredible - to get up every day, to get through the day, to achieve their goals (big or small!) and for What might seem the simplest task to you, could be the biggest, scariest task to someone else.

Others will try and test you and make you question yourself and when that happens just remember, chances are it’s not you! Chances are they are probably going through some shit too, that we don’t know about. And you have to somehow try and feel empathy for them. Rather than letting them trigger you into doubting yourself. It’s a harder route to take but a well worth the ride if you can come through without blowing up or imploding over someone else’s actions, that you have no control over. Boundaries are so important, but can be so fucking hard to put into practice. But they can be done.

Looking back I was very grateful for that person for making me feel the way they did, because I got a chance to put into practice everything I had learnt. I didn’t get it right straight away but I managed to in the end and thats what matters.

Try to Remember we’ve all going through our own shit in life. Many people are fighting battles that we cannot see, so please be kind. Treat others how you want to be treated.

And finally, remember to just be you – beautifully wonderfully YOU!!

Leon xox

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heartsofstrangers · 5 years

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What has been one of the most challenging things that you’ve experienced or are currently experiencing?

“I think the dismantling of my life. A couple of years ago, I was going through a lot. I watched my dad die of cancer, I was raped, and my husband left me within a three-month period of time. It was a major dismantling; it kind of knocked me off my feet and, since that happened, three years ago, that dark spot was the darkest. You feel like you’re in one place, and when you lose everything, it takes you to a whole different place in life. All your dreams are gone. The lessons learned through all that were super hard, having to take a really good look at myself, to accept things about myself, and to accept my heart in some things were really hard. I would say that that was the time that, if I were to ever believe in a mental health diagnosis, it would be PTSD. I suffered. I suffered so hard with that, days of not being able to get out of bed, having children that you needed to take care, having two other children in whose lives you didn’t even have the energy to participate, because you couldn’t participate in your own life. Those are some of the things I went through during that dark period.

“Picking up and moving across the country, thinking that the door is wide open from that point on and really even going into darker despair and being isolated because I didn’t know anyone here. Having to fight through that fog of just getting up every day. If I got up, the day was really good. I felt that it was me fighting myself, more than anything. It wasn’t me fighting the outside world. It was hard to exist for me. It was all inner stuff, it was these battles on the inside and seeing patterns in my life and recognizing that (I don’t have multiple personalities) there were multiple ages that were just going on in my body, and I had no control over that. Knowing that you cognitively know how to handle a situation, yet you don’t know how to implement that anymore. For example, parenting kids, even going to pay a simple bill, or going to check your mail—those are normal stuff, but I couldn’t put pieces together to even do that. It was really hard. I never gave up. That was one thing, I didn’t give up. When all that happened with my dad, I felt like my heart and soul had been patched together, through all the extreme traumas that I had experienced in life, which is a whole long story in itself.

“I’ve been through hell and back. Things that happened to me are things I did to myself unconsciously because my body lived on that. Going back to that time, looking at it—it’s like my soul completely shattered and I couldn’t get the shards back. It’s almost like sifting through those pieces, really literally. A couple of months ago, I went to a shaman and she had to go to this certain wall and get a piece of me back that I couldn’t get back. I learned so much from that experience. I needed help. I don’t look at what I went through as a mental health issue. I always thought it was a soul issue. I’m an empath anyway, so I feel everything around me, and that makes me ultrasensitive to everything. Then, when that happened, it was like tortures ripped in my body and I was sucking all these energies around me. It may not have been just a rip, but maybe more like a slowly starting rip and then those last couple minutes, just wide open, and all that energy got stuck in me, which just kept circulating and keeping my body in active crisis mode, and my body hurt so bad. All the shit I had been through, I never felt it; I had to suppress it, and then I felt it all at one time, this lifetime of stuff. The issues settle there and it took all that stuff to happen for it to surface.

“There is a silver lining. As painful as that shit was, I should have never gone through that stuff or even what I did experience with my father going through that process, the things I learned and actually healed for the first time, looking at the pieces. So, that rip was just constantly open, this wound that was just oozing. The ‘little people’ would take over. It was like when I moved here, it was almost like I went to infancy. Literally, I had to be taken care of, my kids had to fend for themselves; they went through this process with me. I could hardly take care of myself. I continued to do therapy. Being so disconnected, I enrolled myself in a parenting class because I needed to stay connected and try to relearn some things with them. My nine-year-old came out, and I had to tend to her and look at her and see where she was hurting, and then my fourteen-year old came . . . So, between nine and fourteen was the piece the shaman had to go get. Then, this 22-year-old came out and I had to look at him and know about these little people that are inside of me. I can never explain it because I feel like the trauma that I experienced, that during those times, I had to create another world to go to. Since this is kind of a retreat, it’s hard work to retrieve it. So, my transition from this ego-based world where I lived before into really recognizing that I wasn’t a bad person. All the shame—who knew I carried all that in my body? Oh my goodness, the shame I carried in these last three years, where I couldn’t even talk to my neighbors, I couldn’t look people in the face. I didn’t think I deserved to live. I didn’t think, even at a point, my children deserved to be in this world. It was a scary place to be. I had to check myself so much. Just not thinking that we were worthy to do simple things like shopping or go to a birthday party. It’s so sad, but that’s literally what I had to feel and go through.

“Fear, paralyzing fear, of success, of even just living or even going to pay a bill; that means I had to be responsible. Oh, the paralyzing fear. I think I was describing to someone not too long ago that, in the suffering, I felt almost like Moses with the parting sea in a way. On this side, I had the real-life responsibilities, the mom stuff, I really thrived in well before all this stuff happened (things I really needed to tend to, but I couldn’t), and then I had the spirit world over here, saying ‘you need to come visit me,’ but I was stuck right here. I couldn’t move because I was afraid to go either way. I didn’t feel safe to go to the spirit world for a while and learn the things I needed to learn to come back here and take care of them, because there was no safe container for that. When shit like that happens, they take your shit, you end up in the hospital, they put you on medication, and it had taken me a while to trust that that wasn’t going to happen to me.

“Coming over here, just connecting, because I was afraid that I was going to hurt people. I felt like I always just hurt everyone around me, and I was; I was hurting. Hurt people hurt people. I was oozing. So fighting this thing. I thought about giving my kids to another family, because I thought they were better off. These are the things I went through for so long. Thank goodness it gave me incentive. If I had not moved, I’d be dead today or maybe, I don’t know; that’s horrible. I’m a very loving, kind, nice person, and to lose my senses was like raw human behavior, the basics. It was almost like having that loser brain, nothing was charging. I survived, that’s the thing. I survived this and then moving here, having the faith. I don’t even know how I could hear my intuition through all that chaos that was going on, but I knew the moment that I visited here and saw this community, that I had to be here. I knew this is where I had to be from the moment I visited here to the moment I left. I visited here at Thanksgiving in 2015 and I arrived here January 10, 2016. So, that quick a decision and how pleased I was to do it. Getting here and having faith that week. I really believe in the peer work, finding my own support, my own community, trying to make my own path, and I don’t even know what that looks like. At the same time, trying to let go of the ego stuff, the stuff that I’m supposed to do. I have two kids back home in Arkansas, and I’m not able to be a mom right now, and I had to let that go and say there’s a purpose for all that and not fight that anymore, and not live under the umbrella. What a beautiful thing that I even created that I’m allowed to bring into this world. I had to find those little pieces to have the purpose in everything, and look at the losses that I’ve been through, and give it to that heart, but I didn’t let it go easily; I have a closet with all of it. I always feel like I’m in my head when I think about some of that stuff. I feel like I’m standing tall, but there’s a layer of shadow that’s pulling it behind, there’s this light that’s pulling me to the light. That’s how I felt with this transition. I did some major spiritual stuff. All the things I’ve learned along the way to have my own understanding of my creator and how that works in my life, learning how to not judge myself or other people, getting back to the core basics of authenticity and of love. Oh the love that’s in there that I didn’t think I had anymore. It’s little things, it’s people who just dropped in my life. At one time, I only had one friend here, and I had a boyfriend who was super busy all the time. I initially had one friend I could depend on, and then it slowly grew from friendships to people I would call family today. Today, I know that if I have to go to that other world, I’m safe, with so many different communities of people that would support me.

“These children, how different their future is going to be. My daughter is going to have the opportunity to walk in a spiritual path early on of what she chooses. I was raised, of course, in the south, so there’s a church on every corner. The religion we were engrained in was of Christian faith, which I totally believe is a beautiful thing, but I had to find something different for me. So, when I found the rooms, I had a sponsor who came along and talked about a different spiritual practice, which ended up being a sweat lodge. Who knew in little rinky-dink Russellville, Arkansas that people were practicing in a sweat lodge every Friday? I had the honor of sweating with these people; I can remember yelling in this lodge, the tears, just being there, holding me through that, and the community meeting afterwards every Friday, my people, we did it. That was the beginning of really seeking healing outside of just surviving. There have been moments in my life where I had had an easier time. There was a year I can recall that was really wonderful.

“I think my spiritual journey started a long time ago through everything that I had ever been through. My awakening started in 2010 when I went through a psychosis and went to an altered world and, somewhere in that, I came out a completely different person. I had some time there, went to college, excelled at everything I did, and everywhere I went, the grass was green behind me; it was such a beautiful time. I felt I was coming alive, seeing life in a different way. Then there’s the death, the death phase of feeling all those old layers that no longer served me, and now growing, being in touch in a different way than I ever have before, knowing my intuitive skills that I have, like being able to read a person. I see peoples’ auras; I’ve been seeing them my whole life and didn’t even recognize it. It’s taken linking into not just the trauma part of me, which very much exists, but to that spiritual part. I feel like that’s why the healing came, not in that medical wise that our society has, that pushed me.

“I was in the mental health system at nine years old and had my first hospitalization at age fourteen. Viewing from that lens and being trapped in that cycle to seeing something completely different—people don’t live this way. People don’t talk about this as a spiritual journey. It’s amazing how we live in society; we don’t connect with people anymore. I feel like we’re starting to wake up. People are starting to connect more than we ever have in years. I think our whole everything is awakening, seeing things through perspectives. It’s an amazing time to be in, and how people are recognizing how to support one another through our dark nights of the soul through these communities that have popped up just for that, and we didn’t have that before. When you went through something, you were an outcast from society, you had this label to where everything that I’ve ever been through, there’s meaning behind it and I’m able to teach other people and live in my own truth and not to keep secrets anymore. I can live openly, consciously, honestly, and compassionately. Honesty is the biggest; we’re so not honest with people, like ‘ouch, that hurts’—we don’t tell people that; we just let shit keep happening. You should be able to stand up and say that this hurt me, this is what I went through, this was real for me, I really wanted to jump off a bridge, this was real for me; sorry that you never experienced that, but can you please hold a container while I tell you about it. People don’t want to hear it because it has to touch that inner side of you.

“I was telling someone the other day that part of how I live in this world and how I am is that I touch that stuff that’s on the inside, and it’s so hard in ways because there’s a fine line, and I lose people because of that love. It’s just me bringing out the wounds that need to be healed. I can’t help it. It’s not that I point out people’s stuff and say ‘this is in you and this is what you need to fix.’ I, innately, through conversation or relationship, bring that stuff out, but some people are brave and they want to see it, are grateful, and you can have dialogue about it. How healing is that? Even just to be able to talk about stuff, how healing is that? So, that’s been my journey lately. I’m finally putting all the pieces together, participating in things I never thought I would, different ceremonies and healing modalities. I’ve tried a lot of stuff before I found what works for me. Out of the medical model, which I honor because I still have a therapist I talk to, but it’s almost like she’s a part of my tribe as well, in a way. She was crying in the office the other day because of something that we had to work through together. To see the growth and the healing in that, to see my therapist cry because I touched her sadly. Connection, right? We are changing all kinds of systems. I can remember seeing a therapist when I was younger, and it was nothing like that. Going in, and just be-bopping in, not really understanding why I was there. Things worth talking about, things I didn’t want to talk about, or not being able to tell the whole truth about stuff, that was a big one. I got a lot of horror stories from the hospitals as a teenager. You can only imagine the things that we went through there, seeing so much beautiful creativity be squashed.”

Tell me a little bit more about that time in your life you mentioned a lot of trauma, your father being hospitalized, and getting into the mental health system at an early age.

“Basically, I was born a secret in a way, and was raised for a while by a single mom. That was a little outside the box for the family. She was one of the only ones to have children out of wedlock, and that was a big thing back then. Then, she met my stepdad. Being a single mom, she put me in situations that were very harmful. Her not knowing was out of ignorance, just being desperate to have help and support with us. From age four to twelve, I was raped and molested by five different people, family members, which is a whole other story. There are reasons behind that. I don’t condone what happened or anything like that, but I’ve really made peace with it.

“My stepfather was very verbally abusive. He had his own trauma history. So, this is like generational trauma that I inherited. I basically was handed other people’s shit in my lap, was the product of their pain; at least I can see that. Of course, there are a lot of years of resentment towards a lot of that. He was a narcissist. I don’t like labels, but that’s an easy way to say what I experienced. The gaslighting—I was told I would never amount to anything—extreme punishments we had to go through, extreme poverty had a lot to do with it, and we didn’t have to be like that, it was just lack of care, I guess. I don’t know. These really shaped me for a long time. I remember when I was in high school, I was afraid to put my make-up on before I got on the school bus because I knew instantly in the morning, I woke up in fear because I was going to be in trouble for something that happened the night before. My mom had to go to work early, so my stepdad would wait in the morning, after she was gone. Ron, Tosha, Keista, now, snap his fingers, and we had to be, within a minute or two, even if we were still in bed, right in front of him, and we would get drilled and pounded with questions. I would know what I was trying to say, I would defend myself; so, at some point, something great came out of that. I knew how to defend myself. I know how to read people because I had to read ahead for so long. He had my mind so twisted by the time I got on the school bus, my behaviors would come out at school. I was extremely smart; even at 35 years old, I have a 3.76 GPA. So, that tells you that I can apply myself to something; I am extremely smart; I’m not dumb. I am something. I am something today.

“I went through that and, on the sidelines, I was molested by a couple members of the family. One side of the family, we just buried it, we didn’t talk about it, my mom didn’t even believe me, and I tell you this because I want to show you where the change in behavior was. I thought what I went through in life was normal. I had no idea that other kids didn’t go through what I went through at home. My first suicide attempt was in second grade. For a long time, I didn’t realize what that was, but now I realize that was what it was. The behaviors came out in school. I could hardly make a friend, I was so emotionally up and down. Our behaviors tell. I look around me and can’t figure out why any of the adults didn’t do anything about it. My mom didn’t believe me. I was about thirteen when she came out with that and, at thirteen, I was sexually active on my own, so I had those behaviors. I was going to friends’ houses and drinking. At fourteen, I had all these altered worlds I had to deal with. I ended up in therapy at age nine because of the sexual abuse. I had another molestation at twelve, and we went to the police station and because I used big words, instead of saying he put his fingers in me, I said he inserted his fingers in me, they didn’t believe me because they thought I had been coached. We came to find out, that same uncle had been raping my cousin, who was five or six years old. So, nobody did anything about this shit. Behaviors came out, and I ended up in a hospital at age fourteen, the first time being in an institution, and really it was like a vacation away from my family. I was there for however long my mom’s insurance covered it, until they didn’t cover it anymore, that whole cycle, right? They put me on my first medications and forced me to get a birth control shot.

“When I got out of the hospital, I went to school and met this school resource officer (my hero), who is still one of my best friends to this day. Now, he looks at me a little differently because I’m older, but that’s a whole other story. I was there and apparently the medications that they had put me on, my first time ever experiencing this—impurities, doping my body up, not to mention that I’ve been living on hormone-induced Tyson chicken my whole life, so you can only imagine everything that’s going on there. I’m in his office and apparently I start self-harming, but I started fading out and blacked out by this point. The next thing I know, I wake up in the drunk tank in the detention center, shackled. This was just a couple of days before my fifteenth birthday, maybe even the day before, I can’t remember, it’s been literally twenty-one years ago; it’s insane. I’m not that old. I can remember my parents screaming at me the whole way down ‘why the fuck did you do this? How could you do this to us? blah, blah, blah’; I’m just being blamed for everything.

“I end up in this other hospital. Insanity happened in that hospital. First of all, the first night I’m there, I go in and they didn’t have a bed for me, they don’t have a room for me, ICU where they can have the camera or a glass room where they can look at me. I’m literally in a hallway, my bed is against the wall, under these fluorescent lights. I’m sitting there, crying, because my birthday’s coming up, all these feelings, my parents yelling at me, I feel like a total fuck-up. I’m crying, it’s not loud, I’m not disrupting anything, but the nurses’ solution to that was no comfort, no ‘Tosha, it’s okay, you’re safe’; it’s put a shot in the ass and knock me out, that’s what happened to me that very first night there. I’ll never forget it. It’s amazing how I can remember every detail of those trauma memories, I just never felt it bodily. My fantasy world was romance novels. I loved to read, not as much now because I’m older and all of the responsibilities, but that was my world, and they took my books away, all my comforts away. I had this male nurse come in and give them back to me, getting all this extra attention, and then he took me to a room and tells me (I was fifteen years old), ‘I can’t stand to be here without putting my hands on you, blah, blah, blah.’ I have a sexual trauma history and here I have a male nurse; I could have easily been put in the hands of another predator. That’s when I changed; I knew the power of sexuality, which I learned to use later, that’s where I learned that. I had sex with another teenager in the hospital—these are the things that happened there, and they’re pumping you full of the meds. There were other teenagers in there, there was a voice in there with me, and seeing the fear that she had of the nursing staff; it was just horrendous.

“I got out of the hospital and went from this little, petite, teenage girl to blown up with the weight (stretchmarks galore from that). I’m not very vain, but these are things I remember from this. I had disappeared for a couple of weeks, went back to school, was ostracized in my social circle, and started fist-fighting people. It was a couple of years of good fist fights at school, either beating ass or getting my ass beat, that’s where I learned all that. Simultaneously, I’m trying to have a normal teenage life, playing softball or gymnastics. My poor parents, even though they were part of the abuse, they were hurting too, trying to deal with this teenager. I have my resentment towards them for that, so I can see a little bit different.

“I was out of the hospital for three or four months and I got in trouble. I had this one teacher that I used to butt heads with, plus, he was my bus driver. I did some property damage to the bus so he kicked me off the bus; it was a big huge ordeal. I was so afraid of the trouble I was going to get into. I remember calling my stepdad and he said, ‘You’re dead, Tosha. When you get home, you’re dead.’

“My parents had gone somewhere and had left us home. The same antidepressant (I think it was Paxil) that was prescribed in the previous hospital, I took as many as I could with sweet tea, and I love sweet tea. For years, I couldn’t drink sweet tea. I blacked out, bits and pieces that come and I feel like I remember trying to talk and my tongue feeling big. Does that make sense? I have a flash of memory and think it correlates with that time, and I think there was a moment that I can remember hearing my mom going in my ear ‘ssh, baby, ssh.’ I woke up in the hospital with a catheter, oh my God, I remember that experience. My stepdad was there, saying, ‘What did you do? Oh my gosh, they found PCP in your bloodstream.’ Apparently, I had done drugs at school that day.

“My mom, to this day, won’t tell me much about it. The only thing she’s ever told me about that experience was there were several doctors and nurses that had to hold me down, I had this inhuman strength. I think what made me come to was when they were putting the tube down my throat. So, those were memories I had of that.

“I ended up back in the same hospital that I was in before and, that time, I was proactive for myself. I said I didn’t want to go back home, I don’t care if the insurance runs out, I need long-term care. So, I advocated again for myself. When I think about it now, I realize that I was advocating for myself back then. I ended up on the long-term unit and was there for four and a half months, crazy stuff there with other people. They go through similar stuff that you do, pumped full of medications, had to earn rights to get off the unit, all these things; it was tough, but it was a break away from my family—that was the source of it. I wasn’t a crazy person; I was a traumatized person; I was going through trauma daily.

“When I came out of the hospital, my parents were strict for a little while (a couple of months), but then I turned sixteen, was able to get a job and had financial responsibility. One good thing, even through all of the trauma, at least my parents did teach me to be responsible. I was a mechanic, wonderful memories of mechanic shop—taught me how to drive standard, how to work on my own car, and how to change a tire. So, there were good things in there. I started getting freedom. I fought so hard with my stepdad, and then he basically started leaving me alone. So, I got to kind of be a normal teenager at sixteen. Normal teenager to me was sneaking around with boys and partying, going to the backwoods parties, drinking and smoking weed, all these things, whatev, that was teenage stuff back in the redneck country days.

“At age sixteen, I moved out, for four or five months, with a girlfriend, and then moved back home. By seventeen, I met my high school sweetheart and ended up marrying at age nineteen. That’s what I thought I was supposed to do. I met him in a little pool hall. His name was Rocky, country, drove a 1975 Firebird. I was so in love. His idea of a woman was she’s in the kitchen, she takes care of the kids, I go to work, I take care of everything, we’re going to have a garden, we’re going to burn shit all the time, clear that land, that’s what we do, right? It was good times when I look back now. Of course, I didn’t know who I was, and he had his own trauma history from his childhood. Who knew how bad that would affect him? We had all these dreams, and then I had several things happen in a row, plus, still being so engrained in my family, that sick stuff that happens underneath.

“I had a baby, Elijah Tiller, four generations, middle name. I had a C-section and he had jaundice, things I had never experienced before. It was stressful, and my husband was on the road. Just newness, a lot of new things. I was basically a single mom. We had been going to this Pentecostal Church for two years, I had cut my hair, wore skirts to my ankles, the whole womanly epitome thing. My favorite aunt in the whole wide world, Aunt Susie, was always there for me. If I ever could pick a mom, she would be my mom. She died in a car accident, very traumatic. I’ve learned since, if I hear details about something, those are the little things that send me over the edge. If someone dies, I can maybe handle it, but when I hear details about it, for some reason, I feel that and take it internally. I have this vision of that, and I don’t do well with it.

“I just started slowly unravelling, trauma history and hormonal stuff going on. If you wanted to put a label on it, it could have been what is considered postpartum depression. I had this baby stuck to my tits—six months of breastfeeding; it was just so new, all these things. Then I started getting off into the drug world, had an affair, coping mechanisms that I learned very early on, which has probably ruined most of my relationships. Along the way, I learned early on, never could explain why that could be, it could be more than trauma history. I started to explore whether I’m really a monogamous person or a polyamorous person. That could be some of what was going on, too. I never would have thought to look at that. I thought I was this horrible person because I function that way. It could be because I wanted to please my little people, right? I don’t know. That happened and we divorced. I remember looking at my husband, thinking that I was the problem. Of course, not knowing how the trauma affected me at that moment in my life, and I learned so much that I knew that I wasn’t right. His father made more money than I did, so it was not a hard fight to go ahead and let dad take those reins, I didn’t know how that ever would affect me. You just have tunnel vision when you’re going through shit.

“I had a whole mess with the divorce and going through that. Then, a couple of months later, he ended up on methamphetamine. Meth is very widespread in the South. Heroin up here is the scary drug; meth, down there, is the scary drug. Was anyone going to take care of my son? He had just gotten involved in a whole other system, horrible system, oh my goodness. Our systems don’t serve people in the way they need to. I did everything they asked me to do, parenting classes, outpatient drug treatment (honestly, the biggest drug I was addicted to was marijuana). In the South, come on now, there’s so much more major stuff out there, and that’s always gotten me. I had this love affair with Mary Jane, but, of course, I was trying to maintain some balance of normal, that was my crutch to help cope with this world, and I have my own theories about all that.

“During the outpatient rehab thing, I got pregnant with my second son. I think if I ever had more shame than anything is when I met David Quionones through shadow prison. He had been in there for thirteen years; he killed someone when he was eighteen. He was definitely institutionalized. He looked into people’s souls, maybe it was because I didn’t want to look at my own shit still or was afraid of the responsibility (I was close to getting my older son back), was pregnant with the second one, and the agency involvement. Of course, I can’t be with a man who’s from shadow prison and killed someone, but at the time, I felt like the rest of the world was against me and at least someone liked me. I went through that process and have my own big story I could tell.

“I ended up not with my oldest or youngest child. I ended up with this man two months after I lost custody of my oldest and my second child, and married this man. He was abusive, beat the shit out of me, bit my face. Shortly after that, I got pregnant with Jamian. He beat me so bad when I was six months pregnant that I told him that I would call the police; I can’t do this. My family didn’t understand and turned their back on me. They were willing to take my kids and help them, but they weren’t willing to help me, and they were the fucking source where all this started. Come on, I’m expected to make all the right decisions and know better.

“Living in this house with about twelve people, with crack dealers all hours of the night, knocking on the windows. There was no gas. His mom and I were the only two people working. I could barely feed myself. I worked at a nursing home, twelve-hour shifts, three days on and three off. I would eat there, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so that I wouldn’t starve to death. So much shame. I had to file and register for the baby’s food and imagine, after he was born, during his first check-up, I put the carrier down and the registrar calls on us; so embarrassing, so embarrassing. Since we didn’t have any gas (because no one paid the bill), I literally had to take Jamian’s bottles and heat up water in a crock pot and give him his bath and clean his bottle in that. Take a pan back to the house and go to a friend’s house to take a shower, but I survived that, and ended up in a different town for a little while and just kind of floated. Shortly after, I got pregnant again.

“Ten months later, we were visiting people and, again, he went off and beat my ass (I think I was four weeks pregnant with her), beat me up and down a street, literally. I was trying to run and he would grab and snatch me. He had this habit of taking my stuff (cellphone, keys, money, food stamp card), anything he could so I wouldn’t go anywhere. His family wouldn’t take me in, so I ended up having to walk ten blocks to a gas station and called my mom to have her get me; she had the kids (Jamian and Darian) the night before. She came to get me early in the morning and we went back. He wouldn’t give me my stuff, so I decided that I was done. He wouldn’t do it, so I called the police. The police took one look at me, started taking pictures, and said that they were pressing charges, I didn’t have to, and he went back to prison.

“I was pregnant with Keana through that whole time and I divorced him while he was in prison. I think this is where my compassionate heart comes in: I didn’t write him off and say he was this horrible fucking person, because I know about his trauma history. Our wounds talk to each other, and that’s what we get; we hook up with where our wound is. I wrote to him, sent him pictures, encouraged him, and said, ‘You can be a good dad.’ I went to his parole hearing. I guarantee the reason he got out was because I looked at the judge and said, ‘You know, he lived a lot, but he deserves those kids and those kids deserve to know their dad.’ So I was a big, strong advocate even for him. Through this process, I met the man who would become my third husband. We were young, the man loved me and the kids so hard. It was the first time I ever felt loved, but I couldn’t stop the patterned behaviors, the cheating and the drugs. He was six years younger than me, so he was in that phase of partying, so I don’t even know how I managed to raise children.

“I had a brush with the DHS Foster Care System for four months, but I had a wonderful case worker who was able to see through a lot of the stuff. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know . . . she was the first person to tell me that I was super smart, that I got this, I could do it, I was a wonderful mom who made a small mistake. I never heard of a person who got their kids taken away for failing a drug test and got them back in four months. I did it. Parenting classes, I had already been through it, and I knew. I love them, but as soon as that case was over, back to partying. It was different because I had a community. How I met Chris: through the process of my ex-husband beating my ass, not having a place to go, having a baby and pregnant with another one (a beautiful little girl), I ended up moving to this itty, bitty town called Ozark, Arkansas, where the Beverly Hillbillies are from; I lived in that town. It was such a small community and through my job as a CNA, I started building community there, and it just grew. I met Chris and we were happy, even though we were doing what we were doing. All the people we knew were doing the same. We were moms who smoked weed, got together and did fun stuff like taking the kids to the zoo.

“Once their dad got out of prison, I allowed him to be part of their lives until he screwed up again, but I allowed him to be a part of their lives. During that time, I was getting in with my family. I was seeing my two boys every weekend, and had my little circle. I would drop those two off with their dads, go see my other boys, or I would have all four of them for a weekend at my parents or they would come up. It was a really beautiful time, starting something really good, but we got far out with the Xanax. It got me. I had gotten one prescription from a doctor, and I learned how to buy it off the streets. That was a whole cycle. One of my girlfriends and her mom would go to different doctors and different pharmacies (they have a system set for that now, but this was several years ago), until they finally got caught. Xanax, hand over fist, they were buying them, taking four bars a day. I had all this baby weight and it literally just melted off of me in four months. When I finally asked for help, they didn’t know if I was on meth, but knew something was going on.

“When I look back, I think that was the first time life was good for me, and I didn’t know how to handle it. It clearly showed the underlying current my body is still on that system, me trying to juggle everything—it doesn’t ever teach me what I was going through. Four bars a day and my partner, Chris, looked at me and said, ‘Latosha, you have a problem and you have to do something about it.’ My way of doing something is push those people out. Instead of going back to my hometown, at the same time, going down and getting big quantities of weed, bringing it back to this little community, and getting rid of it within days, that’s just how it works. I was doing too much, working full time with two infants. It was chaos. What amazes me with Jamie and Keana and having them—first of all, they were babies, they didn’t recognize all that stuff. In the end, I had a community that kept me kind of grounded to do the things I needed to do for my parenting. Honestly, the impact had been going on. I had been working in these nursing homes for ten years, and I was taking on all of these people’s energies. No wonder I was just going like I was. I remember giving all of my effort to all of these elderly folks, and by the end of the day, I didn’t have enough for my kids, so I felt the Xanax was doing it for me. My idea was sift those people out of my life and start therapy back up. I heard the word titrate, and tritrate meant cut in half, for me at the time, I know what it meant.

“When I made that conscious decision not to do Xanax anymore, I had two bars to last me for two weeks. I did it, and somewhere in that process, I started losing perception of time. Things that happened yesterday, I thought happened three days ago or two weeks ago. I finally cracked the first day without any Xanax in my system whatsoever. I went back to my hometown and got all this weed. Everybody was waiting for me to get off of work so they could come to my house, and I could do my second shift basically. If that day was split in two, a couple days before, which I thought had been two weeks before, my friend’s husband killed himself. Being the community that we were, working at that nursing home, she called my phone that day and said, ‘Tosha, I just want to see my baby,’ and she was talking about Jamian, because she was always attached to him. Jamian is kind of mean and didn’t really like people. But, for some reason, he liked this crazy woman, and I don’t know if she’s aware, she was fun. Somehow that day, I remember working my ass off at work, a bunch of us from work, with our kids, ended up over at her house, the same house where this man had just shot himself, although it had been cleaned up. I can remember, I will never forget this, that rift was there because I could feel everything. I remember walking through that threshold and I could feel there were spirits there. If you go by the Christian faith, and the way I was raised in the Pentecostal faith, when someone has those type of things, there’s demons and stuff like that, and I kind of believe that to a certain extent. They have no vessel to go to when that vessel that they’ve entered dies (at that time, I firmly believed this), so they attached themselves to whoever was in that vicinity afterwards. This was going through my head, and she was telling this crazy story about how his hat was over here and it was moved over here when she woke up. I don’t think she was in her right mind either. I can remember getting up, having to be busy, and making people drinks because I could feel it. Mind you, the lack of the substance (Xanax) in my system was trying to push me into that other world.

“I go home, somehow she ends up at my house, smoking a joint, and all these people were coming into my house to get their weed. I literally thought whoever was in that house carried a spirit away with them that day, because all of our lives fell apart that day in one way or another. I convinced myself of this. Chris was away at some training, I was home alone with two kids (infants and then toddler phase), and when I laid down at night, everyone was gone, I started hearing shit and my muscles started to spasm; I thought I was about to have a stroke or a heart attack, and my two babies were here. It was two o’clock in the morning, I’m not getting any sleep because I’m spinning and hearing stuff. I called into work and talked to a night shift nurse for almost an hour, because I was afraid of all these things. I made it through the night. I remember I was like a skeleton, pulled my pants on and my hair was a mess. I used all the strength I had to get my kids to daycare and get myself to my job, even though I called in. I walked into work and said, ‘I need help. —I have a problem and I need help.’

“They found me a bed in a hospital, and I got to pick where I went. I wanted to be someplace close. So, I get in this hospital and start the process (I was seeing stuff) of really titrating me off the Xanax. I remember taking a shower the night before, and my hair was standing on end (natural curly hair). So, I come out, it was a Friday, nurses don’t look like nurses, they’re in their street clothes. It’s casual Friday at work. I said, ‘Excuse me, I would like to have my make-up and my hair straightener, please,’ and she said, ‘Ma’am, you can’t have that here.’ I said, ‘Why not?’, and she said, ‘Because it’s a safety issue.’ I told her I didn’t come here because I was suicidal, I came here because I want to safely titrate off of medication, and I would like my hair straightener and my make-up. The nurse said, ‘Ma’am, we can’t give that to you,’ and I said, ‘Well, fuck you to,’ and I went back to my room. The counselor came into my room and tried to get me to go to group therapy, and I said just because I feel like I’m crazy, I don’t have to look like I’m crazy. I want to look decent; it makes me feel good. I had to fight for that and fought for it all day. Would you have your nurses come in here looking like some hoodrats, straight off the street, but I can’t look like a decent human being? Are you kidding me?

“Then, the charge nurse comes in and we have a conversation. She says that it looks like you have natural curly hair, if I got you a can of mousse, would that be a compromise, because we can’t have the hair straightener, it’s not you we’re really worried about. She really explained stuff to me, it’s the other people, whatever, try to compromise, you can let me have my hair straightener and watch me, I don’t care; I want a razor to shave my armpits. You all can watch me, I don’t care about that, and she said, ‘No, it’s a safety issue.’ I compromised with the can of mousse; no one else gave me that that day. I got my make-up and got to feel decent. Through that process, going to the other world and coming back, I was a completely different person. I saw things differently, kind of what I’m going through now. I didn’t lose friends, and my boyfriend stayed through this process for the first time. Every other time I went into the hospital before, I lost everything. They loved me regardless, my community loved me through it.

“When I got out, I took about three weeks off of work. I was back to work for about three days and came home bawling, crying, because it was so stressful. I didn’t realize I was that stressed out. I have a very low tolerance to toxic stress. I can handle emotional stress; I can’t handle toxic stress, and I was definitely under toxic stress. I came home and told Chris about it at lunch, and he told me to quit and he would support me. At the time, I loved my independence and having my own money. I gave my two-weeks’ notice and ended up staying three extra weeks. During this time, I wasn’t going to just sit there, I enrolled in college, 28 years old—never thought I could do that, with having kids, but I did it.

“During that space of not working and going to college, I was new to Facebook and had this girlfriend, who has since died of suicide. She posted on Facebook about this guy, Dr. Dan Fisher, who was coming to speak at my hometown college (45 minutes away) about Empowerment and Recovery from a Mental Illness. I had already felt empowered, but I had never heard of recovery from a mental illness. When you have something and you get tagged, you have it forever. For some reason, my spirit was telling me I had to go. I traveled down there, and when he came into the room, I had never seen a person engage the audience like that. People usually speak at you, but he was engaging us, and the things he was talking about, kind of like what I was speaking about earlier, that fracture, how in trauma it separates our mind and our heart. I had never heard anyone put it that way, and how they need to be reconnected and realigned. I remember feeling like I was in a really weird place because I didn’t belong there because he’s famous, well not famous, but he’s an author and has been on Oprah. I raised my hand in the middle of it and said, ‘Where have you been? I can’t remember everything I said. The words, this is what saved me, at that time, was ‘it’s not what’s wrong with you, it’s what happened to you.’ That phrase, I had to say something. At the end of it, Dr. Fisher asked if anyone wanted to help with a nonprofit (I had no idea what any of this was), if you want to volunteer, sign up right here. I signed up, a whole slew of us did. We did a meet and greet, the whole nine yards, and then I left.

“I was over at my sister-in-law and brother’s house, hanging out, and I got this phone call from Dr. Dan Fisher. He said I sounded like someone he could use in our state to help advocate and talk about this nonprofit, it’s peer-run. I didn’t even know what the hell this meant. He explained that it was people who survived the mental health system, and I said, ‘I’m in; I’m in.’ He invited me to come down, check it out, and see if this was something I wanted to do, like I was important. You know what I mean? So, I went outside of my box and told Chris I was going down to Conway for three days to sit in these meetings. I really had no idea what it was all about. God bless his heart, he was probably a young, dumb redneck who loved me so much, he was going to let me do anything. Those three days changed my life. I hoped this was the beginning of helping to build their peer-run nonprofit. So, I started that process, meetings of these great minds, people from the state, these people are like forever family, just watching this thing that you have building and growing, all this knowledge I’ve gained.

“I got to travel through that experience. Six months later, I took my very first plane ride to Anaheim, California to attend the Alternatives Conference, with 1,000 or more people who have lived experiences through the mental health system, with a higher purpose, being one of two representatives for the state of Arkansas. How exciting is that? This little country girl, never thought about anything beyond that. You should have seen me, I was carrying 50 pounds of books, because I couldn’t put them in my bag, since they would charge me more. Me and my partner, running across the Chicago airport with all of these books; it was horrible. It was an amazing experience and I’ve opened up. Not only am I going to college, I’m thriving in college, doing things I would never had done in high school. I was the secretary for the Student Government Association and I was the PVL President. Like I said, where I was walking, the grass was growing green. I started feeling better and my life was great. I say great, but the underlying current still actively participating in that wild lifestyle. Me and two girlfriends called ourselves the ‘bad girls club’ because we weren’t good to our men at all. In the long run, I got found out. That man loved me so much, he gave me another chance. It hurt, and those wounds started hurting people. It was almost like I was doing stuff that my fourteen-year-old would do—come out to play for a moment, do a little dirt and come back, so that she could be normal. That’s what those fragments or infractions are.

“Chris and I moved back to our hometown, and I was no longer a part of that little community that helped me grow and thrive. Friendships were finding their way out the door and the ‘bad girls club’ started doing dirty shit to each other. That’s what happens when you keep dirty secrets, right? But, I loved those women, I learned so much, they taught me so much too, sisterhood, and how to be yourself. For the first time in my life, I had these women who loved me no matter what. And then the unraveling started to happen. I started the custody battle for my oldest son, my brother was in active addiction, PTSD, had his kids taken away, and I was trying to support him and my parents in that process. My parents ended up with his kids. I was feeling like I wasn’t living up to my full potential. At least I had gotten my associate’s degree and had started online classes for my bachelor’s, my husband was on the road, tee-ball coach, soccer—just so much, spinning plates, that’s what I do because I don’t know how to sit still and be still, just doing what I thought I was supposed to do, the know it all American, and then I started cracking and the fractures started coming in.

“The way I look at it is I have this history of trauma in my life that I don’t want to feel. I think the creator allowed something very unfortunate to happen. I was raped again (I went to go buy some weed) by someone I knew for fifteen years; he was way off on something else. I firmly believe had he not been so fucked up and far off that would have never happened. I had just lost my dad, oh my God, I didn’t realize how long I had made this man my fucking God, and you don’t have that no more and you don’t have that expectation. That’s a whole unraveling, right? After I had been sexually violated again like I was, I started shutting down. I started going to NA, that’s when I entered into the rooms. My husband didn’t understand as I kept it a secret from him, because I was so ashamed of being in that position in the first place. All those feelings from childhood came bubbling back up with it, but then I started talking about it and took on the responsibility for what happened. I started talking to my girlfriend about it, and told her what happened and how disgusting it was, and she told me that I was raped, and that was the idea of that.

“I couldn’t face the reality of going to a meeting with my nonprofit. All I could do was literally just lay on the couch, hardly move, and sleep. Thank God it was a peer community. Then it all came out, and then we left. Of course, all the history of the rest of the stuff before, I was accused of sleeping with him because that couldn’t happen because he knew me, you all had history, we were friends, yeah, we were at one point, but he was so fucked up on those drugs. I told my whole family I just slept with this man, so guess what my family said, the repeated pattern, it didn’t happen, and they supported him in a new relationship not long after ours. They did a total betrayal. I can remember my mom saying that I didn’t want to be part of this and didn’t want to rock the boat. In the meantime, she was over here hooking him up with someone else, keeping it a secret and still having a relationship with my ex-husband. I was totally ostracized and shut in the dark and, the day he left, all of these goals and dreams—being a mother and homemaker, trying to get custody of my child back, and going to fight for my next one next—all these dreams gone, just swiped, and I couldn’t function. Imagine football season with three boys, and I did it. Then with my daughter, gymnastics and dance. These things were so important to me, and it was gone and I couldn’t get it back.

“I had sense enough to enroll myself in college. That human being was still there, even though I was living in that fractured side. I had a choice. I lost everything and had to go on housing, food stamps, and the whole nine yards. The outer appearance looked totally perfect, but was total crap on the inside. I could have totally done the factory thing, work at Tyson and raise my kids on Tyson chicken, but I couldn’t do that. I had taken a semester off, maybe a year, when my dad was dying. I enrolled myself back in college, and I remember my mom telling me how dumb I was and I said, ‘No, I’m not doing that. They deserve to see something different.’ When I was on housing, I had sense enough to utilize it. I can remember sitting in class and hearing ‘wonk, wonk, wonk.’ The only thing that saved me were PowerPoint and having to physically concentrate on writing papers. I was totally disassociated with so much weight loss. It was hell. I was fighting with my ex-husband for a year because we didn’t know how to let go. He was so hurt, and he had every right to be. I was so hurt, and had every right to be. Two kids were in the middle of it, and I was becoming a person I didn’t want to be. I had a conversation with my ex-husband not too long ago because after all that, when I moved and taught for six months, we had to have that much space. He got remarried and had babies on the way by that time. I told him that he was such a coward because you can’t hit on my unraveling and you have two kids. When I say, ‘We’re raising each other,’ we’re literally raising each other. The traumas that you don’t want your kids to experience (the losses, the hurt, the pain), they’ve experience it. So, that’s my story to where I’m at today.

“I probably have to look at my shadow self. Through all of that, if you look at what I went through as a child and all the things that happened, I believe of having that feeling of being other than my whole, not because I’m being narcissistic. I’ve always seen things in a spiritual way, no one in my life looked that way, just going through all that, the generational trauma—the forces I’ve been dealing with aren’t just my shit, it’s all of that—my grandmother, my great grandmother. A little bit more of my historical story is my family is full of pedophiles. My great-grandfather literally molested all of his granddaughters. He was way older, his wife was thirteen years old, and had her first child at fifteen, and went on to have eight kids. He isolated her way up in the country, while he would go to the city, make his kids work and, what I heard, was he would spend his money on the horses. There’s that side.

“On my father’s side, my father had a stepfather who molested all of the girls. One of the uncles ultimately moved on to molest me. My biological dad is an alcoholic. Me and my brother are the only two of our generation who had been sexually traumatized. My brother took it hard because whatever I went through, he was right there beside me. He was out there homeless. I know the feeling; I went through it. The Creator definitely gave me people and communities that loved and support me. It’s only because, no matter through the dark circles and fog of it all, the ultimate end of it was love, and my brother just can’t find that. He doesn’t understand that part of it. I tried saving him, but that’s his monkey barrel.

“I feel like with this generational sickness that’s happened, the buck stops here with me. That little girl and that little boy in there, never ever have they been touched, and they will never be in their life, because I know that my birth, through all the hell I’ve ever been through, was to heal that tear. They’re going to carry their own traumas, and they’re going to carry their own healing. When you have traumas like that, it takes seven generations to get it out, and when you heal yourself, you heal seven generations past and seven generations forward. So, they’re going to carry the burdens of their own traumas that they’re going to have to focus on their lives to heal, so they can be the healers that they’re meant to be, because we were born to be healers. I think everybody has it in them, but people aren’t awake to it. The Creator has woke me up to it and gave me the keys and the healing modalities to do that. I had to go through the ups and downs, the tunnels, the dark nights, and be at that desperation point in order to do the work I feel I’m meant to do and the next generation is meant to do.

“I think it’s sad that my older two kids cannot. If you went by society terms, my kids still go through shit, not normal stuff. How rich are they going to be? My daughter can pick and choose what she wants to do. She’s not bound by this anymore and I’m healing that and I’m breaking that for her, she gets to go out and be her creative self. They’re not expected to go work at some factory or become a mechanic. They are all valid trades, but the evolutionizing, they’re meant for something different. My two older kids, our journey will start when they can come to me and we can talk about our paths. That’s okay, too.

“So, making meaning of all that, when I say society says with mental health, you’re broken, you can clearly feel that way, but for me, the journey is spiritual. It’s not that physical. It’s our spirit, right? So, that’s where I’m at.”

It sounds like a beautiful place to be at, putting those pieces together, and that you’re finding value and meaning in all of these painful, traumatic experiences, but that there’s light, love, and purpose; you’re human.

“True healing, not sweeping it under the rug or covering it up with other pretty things. I’m doing the nitty, gritty, messy, all-over-the-place healing, and the Creator is providing every step of the way, even through all of my fears. This is never how I envisioned my life to be, still holding on to that fourteen-year-old romance novel reader. No wonder why I had this magical boy meets girl false hope, because that’s what helped me survive. If I’ve learned anything in the last three years, it’s to just let it go; we have no control. We can make decisions and have goals, but, ultimately, in the end, it’s our Creator that has that control and He or She molds us in a way that we’re created to go. We don’t know what our life is going to bring us. We’re all one accident away from some kind of crisis, mental health issue, spiritual crisis, or even death, just one moment away, and how the human spirit survives that, not just survives, but thrives, and gets to the other side.

“I’m a single mom. It’s tough a lot of days. I do two shifts in a day basically. My car’s got issues. At one time in my life, I had a four-bedroom, two-bath house with a backyard, and I loved that. Now, I’m in an apartment, far away from my family and anybody I know, but I’m right where I’m supposed to be. This is how it unfolded for me, and I’m happy right where I’m at. My job—I get to wake up every day and do what I love, which is to hold space for others. I have compassion, share love every day, and there’s no reason in this whole world that I should be able to love the way I do. Every obstacle I had hit me in my face, but there’s that innate feeling. There was a flame there, and it told me there’s something better and that we’re beautiful. The simple little things, like my single mom neighbor I can go to and talk dirty shit, you know what I mean? That’s so beautiful because that’s so human, right? Or, my grandmother who will call me randomly, or I’ll call her—it reminds me where my roots come from. That’s so beautiful. Or, my neighbor, Louis, who just died two weeks ago. He was an addict, and was the best neighbor I ever had, because he taught me how to dig my car from underneath the snow, something that I would never know. We looked out for him and he looked out for us; how beautiful that is. Or, my relationship with my ex-partner. We went through some stuff, we’d run out those title sides on one another, but how beautiful, on the other side of that, I had one of the best relationships ever. My very best friend, Ron, who is wheelchair-assisted and has immobility in a lot of ways, and how he inspires me every day and has held my hand. There’s so much beauty in everything. Seeing my kids struggle through things because they’re learning and growing.”

For anyone who is reading this and can relate to a multitude of things that you’ve shared, what message would you want them to receive?

“I think my theme lately is standing your own truth. Speak your truth to power. We can survive and then thrive. I guess that’s really it. It’s so worth following your dreams, so worth it, because I’m living my dream today.”

So it sounds like what you’re saying is talk about it, move forward, and don’t give up on your dreams.

“Don’t, and do whatever it takes for you to move forward. If that means you have to have that pause moment and bury yourself under the covers, that’s part of moving forward, because you’re doing the real work, you’re grieving and feeling things. So there’s value in that. Even in your darkest moment, there’s so much value.”

What are some of the things that work for you today? You talked about this being a very spiritual journey for you.

“For me, connection is a huge one, whether it be from my wings or from a different place, it’s what helps me. Yoga, although I don’t have a steady yoga practice now, has been one of the steps along the way for me. Not being part of the mental health system as far as medication and all that; I am totally not doing that route. I’ve seen a spiritualist, and that has definitely helped. I’ve participated in some very intense ceremonies, let’s put it that way. Those are some of the things, and I’m also still learning too. I’ve had these really unhealthy patterns for so long, I’m learning to pay attention. My diet is not healthy by any means, but that’s something I couldn’t see before, but realize this does affect my body, so I’m slowly integrating things like that.

“Learning how to nurture and love myself—that’s my biggest thing right now. Not too long ago, I participated in a ceremony about self-love. Through that ceremony, I found that love. I had never felt such intense love in my entire life, and it was like reconnecting with my self. I feel like if you have that, you have a base. You find that and then you have something to work with. Since I’ve recently found that, I’m starting to do the real work, even though before it was work, it was more like sifting through it. Now, I’m able to give love because I’m self-loving and self-caring. I’m able to give love to my children again and connect with them and give love to other people. I’m able to allow people to support me on this journey and support other people, that’s a big thing. It’s the little things. For example, six months ago, I could hardly get out of bed and work to living my dream job—there you go. It’s so part of me and who I am. I held on to living my passion, and I do it every day. Those are the things that help me and I’m going to learn more.”

You said previously you’re still learning, and I think that is important. Is there a quote, a mantra, or piece of advice that someone has ever shared with you, or you’ve come upon, that resonates with you?

“I think as a life mantra: when people are seen, valued, and heard, they grow and they thrive. I think whenever I was seen, valued, and heard, I grew; that’s it! I was sitting here thinking of quotes. One day maybe I’ll read the invitation to you, that’s really important to me, and I’ll put that; it’s beautiful. I guess that’s it.”

It seems that to be seen, to be heard, and to be valued are human basic needs besides Maslow’s Hierarchy of Human Needs (shelter, food, and all that stuff). I think that’s where the healing starts, when you feel safe, you feel heard, and you feel valued. I think that’s huge in integrating people back into community, and you touched upon this a lot—the system. The system is not rooted in seeing, caring, and valuing people; it’s about medicating, labeling, and disconnecting people.

“Making money and being a cattle call. Our systems don’t work, they just don’t. Finding that sense of community has always been a big thing for me. I’m 35 years old and I’ve lived probably five lifetimes in that 35 years. I’ve always been trying to not reinvent myself, but there’s always been these collapses along the way and so many lessons to learn. However, for the first time in my life, here and now, I feel like I’m doing the real work. Hopefully, I have another lifetime or two before I go to that other world permanently.”

How has it felt to talk about these experiences and feelings with me today?

“It feels good. I feel valued, seen, and heard. I feel great about it. I’m grateful to be able to tell my story. It’s such an honor. I think our stories are the most powerful thing a person has. Nobody can take that away from us. It’s ours, it’s mine, it’s yours, our collective stories together. No one can take them away from us. I’m so honored that you would allow me to tell my story. I hope that someday it resonates with someone, like when I heard Karen’s story.”

You mentioned, before we started this interview, that you were feeling anxious and a little nervous. Did you notice when that dissipated? Did it at some point?

“Oh, yeah, it definitely dissipated. I think a little nervousness is good, right? Once we started, I just bit the bullet and didn’t think about the nervousness, and it’s not there now at all. It’s cool, and to do this process with you was very helpful. Like I said, we’ve known each, but to really sit down and get to see your compassion, the tears—connecting—it’s helped.

Thank you. It helps me too.

#healing #resilience #mentalhealth #recovery #hope

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werevulvi · 5 years

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I've wanted to write some about my femininity for a while but not sure how to phrase it. I want to explain why and what it means to me, in more depth. I wear it as an artform, as a shield to protect my bare skin, as an expression of my personality. It can be called goth, alternative, dark, gloomy, witchy, or whatever you want. It is an unconventional form of femininity that is largely looked down upon by society. You may not recognise it as such, or scoff at that notion, but my experiences of bullying and harrassment for "looking weird" tell me otherwise. I first started finding it within myself somewhere around age 12.

My femininity does not make me fragile, or compliant. I'm a warrior of the psychological kind, and of modern times. The kind of armour I need is not steel: but the bravery to be different and be confident about it, as well as the courage to take something commonly accepted by society and use it for reasons that do not include "being approved" or to be submissive for society, men, or even other women. It says: here's what I am and what I look like, you do not have to approve of it but I will appreciate those who genuinely do.

My femininity is rough with sharp edges. I roughed it up with combat boots to keep my feet steady on the ground, a shaved head and un-concealed scars to show my battles and fearlessness. It's been through a hell of dysphoria, self-hate and suppression. It's been beaten and screamed at, tossed aside and torn apart... yet survived it all and came out stronger on the other side. It does not make me subservent, because my strength is not in my clothes, jewellery or the makeup I wear on my face. My strength is not in muscle but comes from within, and none of those things I wear weaken me.

There are different kinds of beauty, and mine is just one kind. I am beautiful regardless of my femininity, but with it, I can personalise and express my beauty the way that pleases my artistic mind and chaotic, fiery personality. It is in a sense, an extension of myself, cause it shows a glimpse of who I am as a person beyond my skin. The makeup, jewellery and clothing may be superficial additions, but their meaning is anything but superficial.

Humans have, throughout the entire history of time, expressed themselves with jewellery, makeup, face/body paint, tattoos, piercings, colourful clothing, etc. Femininity is just as ancient as masculinity and it has not always been meant for or used by women. It is our peacock feathers. Literally the first piece of clothing ever invented was a skirt. So forgive me for not believing femininity to be less natural than masculinity. It is not. And its many purposes have been with us since the dawn of time. I see femininity as perhaps more so an expression of the soul and the spiritual, and masculinity more so of the mind, and the rational. Femininity often has connotations of vulnerability, but vunlerability is not to be confused with weakness. And anyone who does has greatly misunderstood it, for the one who dares to be vulnerable does so out of strength.

However, I do understand and see that what modern times and many human societies have done to femininity is horrenduous, harmful and tragic. I do not condone that, or it being forced upon women and girls of today. But that does not make femininity in and of itself a bad thing. You ironically, forget to look beyond the surface. But back to me.

My femininity has been trampled on, scoffed at. I've been called a halloween costume for it, whore, attention-seeker, circus freak, clown, and so on. I’ve been taken advantage of because of it, groped at night clubs cause my boobs were partially showing or my skirt was short, kissed unwillingly cause my face looked cute in makeup. Yet I persist. Creeps do not define me. Often I hear I am too extreme and that I should tone it down. But why, and for whom? Why should I suppress or change my style for other people? Do my dark lipstick or my glittery skirt really embarrass them that much? I wonder why. So you see I never did it for other people. I am doing it despite what other people think.

Because I did suppress it. As my teenage dysphoria increased into my late teens and twenties, and masculinity could help me pass as male in society... still drawn to the femninity I loved, I had to sacrifice it. On rare occasion I dressed up fem while alone in the privacy of my own home, but even that clashed too hard with my dysphoria. I felt like a closet transvestite, yearning for forbidden fruit. It didn't help when I could pass with the help of testosterone, cause I didn't like being perceived as a man in drag, or the dangers that could put me in. I couldn't handle the dysphoria with my femininity, and I couldn't fully be myself without it. A catch 22.

I asked myself: Does my femininity matter more to me than dealing with my dysphoria? I said no, but that it matters just as much. I ended up with a bargain: too masculine for my comfort, and too feminine for my dysphoria. It was the best I could do, but it was no solution. There was no solution.

Until I managed to heal my dysphoria, and I did so unintentionally by looking into my traumas and trying to figure out if I really wanted FtM bottom surgery or not. I followed my gut feeling, and it led me to a reality in which I didn't hate my body's femaleness anymore. It led me to love it. But it also made my masculinity hurt like self-inflicted wounds that won’t heal. (Apparently there’s deep poetry to be found in my inconveniently reversed dysphoria... It is the pain I carry from having suppressed my femininity, almost like a very real consequence of it. I’ve never seen it that way before. Huh, interesting.)

I remember on literally the first day of my detransition I ran down to my storage room, so excited I was tripping over my own feet in the stairs and sliding on the floor towards where I kept my things. My feminine things, that I had kept in boxes throughout my entire 9 years long FtM transition. A black dress that I had bought and worn only once, summer of 2008 shortly before I made the decision to transition, fit me perfectly with a stuffed bra. I nearly fell to the floor crying in happiness. I looked so good, I felt so good. I felt... at home.

Digging up my femininity from dusty moving boxes after all that time, and all that struggling to find some kind of comfort within myself, just to survive... made me realise I had been running in the wrong direction entirely. My femininity is genuine. It comes from my heart. It is the little princess my parents didn't let me be as a child cause it could get stained, so I had to put it away for the "comfortable" boy clothes. But it did get stained... and it took me a lifetime to wash out the stains that other people had put on my femininity, so that I could wear it with pride again. I washed away my shame from it and now it is stain-proof and strong as steel.

My femininity is not just something I wear. I am feminine, inside and out.

#personal #femininity #my view on it in general and in depth #my perspective #detransition #femininity and dysphoria #feminine woman #femme #ftmtf #i too go against society #and i always have #i wouldnt even know how to fit in #my dysphoria taught me a lot #im still dysphoric but not that way

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mikayla-jays-world-blog · 5 years

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Mikayla Jay's World...

Welcome one and all.

Hey friends....I thought it's about time for me to really introduce myself to all of you. I started this little blog about 6 weeks ago, and the first thing I should say is that I'm...well...*ahem... getting older. (I'm 45). As such, I'm a bit of a late-comer to social media. If truth be told, this is my first and only blog and platform that I have ever used. Ever. I don't use Facebook, I'm not a YouTuber or on Twitter or Twatter or Chatsnap or whatever else is typically used by y'all. This isn't about monetization for me. I needed a place to be creative, to vent, to learn, to grow...and most importantly...I wanted to find others in hopes of developing some sort of support network for myself. You see, in addition to being old (er), I'm also a proud MTF Transgender WOMAN. I am also bi-sexual, with a ravenous sexual appetite for both men and women - and each for their own unique reasons and dynamics. I have been an artist for mist if my life and career, having spent over 15 years professionally as a tattoo artist (I was attracted to Tumbler initially because of the graphic friendly, pro-art/artist philosophy...and the porn lol- at least until they took that away 🙄). I got burned out professionally about 18 months ago, and really wanted to follow a dream that has been sitting in the back of my head for years and years... I wanted to pursue writing. I've always believed that you do what you love, AND THEN you find a way to get paid doing it. But really, it's not about making money for me. It's about living my life on my terms, loving the person I continue evolving into, standing in my own truths, living authentically and being happy....truly happy with the life I want to live. And while I'm on the topic, I wasn't always interested in that. Living, I mean. The Cole's Notes version of my past is certainly colorful, but also full of pain and some tragedy- like many of us.

I grew up in a chaotic household, with parents that fought constantly and ultimately divorced. That was tough on me because I was close to my mom, and not so much to my father. Mom was a Nurse, Dad a University Professor. You see, I knew I was different from an early age. Thing is, my Mom knew too. She caught me wearing her makeup (because I would smush her lipsticks not understanding proper application techniques, and she got tired of me destroying them on her lol). So my Mom decided to show me how to apply makeup properly. She knew I liked lingerie, dresses, heels etc. I believe she also knew that I was not straight at the very least- certainly as I entered my teens and became a horny kid, it became obvious- to her. My father had his face in a textbook my entire childhood, and so was oblivious to his oldest son's (me) true personality. As such, I became very close to Mom. She was my best friend.

When I was 13, my parents divorced. My Mom needed a fresh start and my father made way more money, so we (me and younger brother) were forced to live with him. We moved to Maritime Canada- Prince Edward Island to be specific, as my father accepted a job in Charlottetown. My Mom moved to the North West Territories, and took a job as an Emergency Medical Flight Nurse working thru a small Native reserve hospital in Fort Simpson NWT. I was heart broken at being away from her suddenly, and bitter at the whole situation. Then my life really turned upside down.

My Mom, the best friend I ever had, loved her new life. She was finally really happy, and at peace with herself. She spent a very. fullfilling year up North. Then, just before X-Mas 1988, my world fell apart. My mom was on an emergency medical flight, and without me reliving painfull details, the plane she was flying in- 3 miles from the airport on the return leg, flew into a mountain. The plane exploded on impact, and my Mom was killed. That day, a big piece of my heart died.

I'm 14 yrs old. My mom, my best friend, my confidant and only person I trusted and supported who I was, was taken from me. The impact it had on me was simple. I was broken inside. I was in a new city and province, had no friends, was confused, alone....and broken.

The way I dealt with the pain and grief was to bury it by inside me. I became introverted, isolated, depressed, and scared. I was also trying to fit in where I didn't belong. Those of you that have never experienced small town maritime Canada, it's like Deliverence. Only worse. I had to adapt to my surroundings. The local customs and beliefs were not open, accepting or pro LGBTQ. The one thing I had going for me (at least then) was that I was coordinated and active. I could play sports. And I was a big kid. I believed my only option to fit in was to pretend I was like "everyone else". I learned to bury not just my pain, but everything that made me who I was. My sexuality. My needs and longings to feel feminine. To dress up and wear makeup. The happiest side of my personality was intimately linked to my feeling that I was born in the wrong body. I became sport-o. A jock. I blocked out and buried that part of me. And began living a life of lies. I became a "mans man".

Fast forward. I got big. I got angry. I hated myself and the world. I got involved in football and rugby and started amateur boxing. I became more confused as time went on. And more angry. Eventually after University, I moved out West. To British Columbia. Vancouver. Part of me wanted to get as far away from my father, Atlantic Canada, and my past. Part of me was aware of the progressive open gay community out there.

I ended up taking a job as a bouncer in a fairly violent biker bar. I immersed myself in that world, all the while walking a razors edge where I was "Iron Mike" on the outside, a tough SOB and all around bastard of a person. My confusion and anger over time grew into overwhelming dysphoria. I hated my body. I hated the way I looked. I battled those feeling by way overcompensating and going to the extreme other end of the gender scale. I became hyper masculine outwardly, and satisfied my inner desires on the sly, behind everyone's back. I engaged in many dangerous and stupid behaviors. I became a drug addict. And that culminated in 3 suicide attempts. I wanted to die.

That part of my life is a story for another time. But I will fast forward, for the sake of my sanity and yours. I was lucky enough to find an addictions doctor and a mental health councillor who helped me turn my life around. I began with grief Councilling for dealing with my mother's death. As I learned to trust the two women at that clinic, I came clean. With everything. My sexuality. My gender identity. I opened up about my risky sexual behavior (days and weeks suppressing and burying who I was inevitably would boil over and I would "blow off steam in the extreme let's just say.) Cyclical, drug fuelled gay sex parties were like a medicinal, almost spiritual healing event, just in a backwards twisted sort of way. My depression, dysphoria and anxiety would go up and down with my moods. I needed to change. And the more I worked on accepting myself, and battling the debilitating shame of feeling like a closet freak, the more I realized how wrong I had always been. How confused, disillusioned and unhappy I always was. I learned, slowly and not without setbacks, that I was not the pariah I feared I would become. I wasn't a freak. And I didn't have to continue to be......broken.

Over the past 10 years, I have grown and evolved. I began by accepting that I was gender fluid, and embracing it. My lifelong habit of crossdressing became something I refused to bury, and I stopped being ashamed of it. I consider myself mostly bisexual....with a definitive preferrence towards gay men and gay sex. I enjoy sleeping with women as well, but I really find it is a different type of sex, and my attraction to women is more about the intimacy. I emotionally 'make love' to women, whereas I like a good n' nasty fuck with a man...call me old-fashioned LMAO.

I also evolved in my gender identity, my knowledge and experience growing alongside my courage, and the belief in who I really am. I have grown to embrace the woman I've been evolving into. The amount of time I spent dressed up and living as a female grew more and more. I learned to truly accept myself, and the word Transgender. The philosophy, lifestyle, choices, mental impact and ultimately the strength and happiness that I've found by embracing that I AM A PROUD AND HAPPY MTF TRANSGENDER WOMAN has absolutely changed and saved my life. As such, I went through Gender Councilling, and went through the long and arduous waiting list/period to see a gender specialist doctor. I am so excited to say that I finally began by hormone therapy treatment about 6 weeks ago.

Which brings me to where we are now. I have just begun the next phase of my life. I am so happy and thankful to have survived and come through on the other side. Part of that journey has been learning to love myself. Respect myself. Believe in myself. I am so grateful to the small support group of doctor's and mental health workers who helped me learn to live my life as it was always meant to have been lived. And the other part is making sure that I can pay that gratitude forward, by helping other Transgender people live their authentic wonderful lives. That's a big reason why I started my blog. Mikayla Jay's World is a reflection of who I am. It is a place where I can thrive, meet others like myself, actually BE myself, and continue to grow....creatively, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. It is a world where you won't be judged, and you will always find a supportive girl to lean on and become friends with. We are on the cusp of great societal changes. We have the ability to help each other through the difficulties still to come, and all be stronger, better people for it. Welcome to the world I live in. Welcome to a place I love. A safe place to be who you are...inside and out....and a place where we can all laugh, cry, be shocked, be turned on, be motivated, be creative, be unique, and be loved. Your always welcome in Mikayla Jay's World. Thanks y'all.

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femnet · 6 years

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2018,

What a year you’ve been. If there was one word to describe you, it would be: transformative. You’ve taken me through hell and back, given me a taste of heaven, delivered the biggest plot twist, and given me exactly what I needed.

I started out a mess, worn down and suicidal by suppressed feelings of guilt and shame. A relationship that was falling apart from seething resentment and ineffective communication, a fight that shook the cracks in the crumbling foundations. I couldn’t take it. I wanted out!

I moved to Italy, away from my support system and into the unknown. Unhappy about the process, I complained and bickered all the way through. A cappuccino and a bus ride at sunset on the first day took me by surprise. The fading sunlight on the buildings forced my eyes open and I did not think of my disdain for life for the whole ride. It’s hard to be sad when there’s so much beauty to be found.

Four roommates, numerous get togethers in the kitchen over tea or while preparing dinner, conversations exchanged on boys, parents, school, food. I found a safe place in the kitchen and in always having someone to talk to. Four roommates and being introduced to new people, making friends, Italy slowly starting to feel like home.

As winter faded, so did my love. A difficult conversation and a three-week break to “think”, I didn’t think. Erasmus parties, more tea and coffee meetups with friends, food, trips to Italy with newfound friends helped me stay afloat. A nagging hesitation between the need for stability and the urge for discovery gnawed at me. When asking my therapist for advice, he said: “If you want stability, work on your relationship,” he said. “But the other side will always bring more adventure.”

As spring started, my relationship ended. Fuelled by my forgotten dreams and a drive for survival, I put on lipstick and went to see my friends. Three days later, I went on a date and kissed another pair of lips. The next day, I got drunk and kissed yet another pair of lips I had been thinking about. I had longed for connection, playful conversation, validation. These lips on mine made my body come alive with a force not felt in months. The crash when he said he didn’t want to ruin our friendship, brought me to my knees. Melodrama playing on repeat, I wondered at the loss of young love, miscommunications, sweet beginning turning to bitter endings, the bitter sweetness of reflecting upon a love story lost.

Away from my relationship I discovered a side of myself I had never seen before. An almost social butterfly, never turning down drinks or an invitation for a night out. Was it pretend or was this me? Part of it was surely to cope with the breakup, but I liked this side of me. Going out four nights a week, spending more time with friends than on homework… It wasn’t all the healthiest, but I felt happy. Happy and sad and fulfilled and broken and chaotic and whole at the same time. It made no sense and yet felt perfectly natural. I started feeling more unapologetic, laughing through the tears and dancing through the heartache. I had started making sense of the chaos inside and fitting all the broken pieces together. At a party, my jaw nearly dropped as I saw the personification of the song Gorgeous by Taylor Swift walk into the room.

A trip to Cinque Terre took my breath away and my heart down under as a quest for food led to a life-changing encounter from Australia. I laughed and drank and kissed that night, appreciating the affection. I also threw up three times and agreed to a boat tour with my newfound lover’s parents. Oh, decisions made while drunk. The next day, cruising along the Cinque Terre with my toes in the water, the wind in my hair and his arms around me, I felt happy. A happiness I knew to be fleeting, but I was determined to enjoy the moment for what it was.

What followed was a summer romance of the ages, made of drunk nights, dancing in the kitchen naked, breath-taking views and constant kissing. For the first time, I felt like I belonged. Here, in this world, with this person, as this person I was when I was with him. Time felt unreal and surreal, as if I had been thrown into a new dimension and reality had been altered. Amidst this happiness lurked a constant confusion: the still present love for my ex and the total bliss for my newfound lover. How to choose?

On a trip to Italy to distract myself from a nagging feeling of an imminent ending, I went to dinner and ran straight into “Gorgeous”. Don’t ask me how, but on a drunk night I went “fuck it” and we kissed for the remainder of the night, while I was technically still “involved” with my lover.

My intuition was right: the ending came. As summer ended, so did my romance. I was shattered, to say the least. How would I keep on living, knowing such a connection could exist and yet not be able to have it anymore? Even on my graduation day, my sadness was palpable. I had achieved a master’s degree and written a thesis I was proud of but celebrating felt meaningless without the one who had changed my life. Like a snake, I felt like I had shed my skin and could no longer access the person I used to be. I wanted to go back to my past love, but every conversation felt like disguising myself as the person expected of me, not the one I had become.

Trying to hide my heartbreak, I felt like a traitor. How could I talk to my ex while feeling so broken over someone else? How could I tell my best friend of all this, when I had kept quiet about everything for months? I didn’t tell “Gorgeous”: no need to show what a mess I could be. But he seemed to understand the other broken parts of me, and he liked Monty Python. But what use? He lived in Italy, and I was not coming back. So I thought.

I did come back. And spent the weekend with him. With the nights spent together, I felt my broken pieces slowly healing. When he asked “so… are we dating?” my mind went blank. Did that mean I had a boyfriend?

It did. And I almost shat my pants. Out of fear of being broken, thinking I could not survive another heartbreak, I almost ran away. I could not believe he could be so adamant about wanting to be with me. Didn’t I make them all run away? Wasn’t I a liability, too much for everyone and yet never enough?

He stayed. He’s still here. After all the loves that were the idea of something, he seems to really be something. There’s a safety and an ease you only feel with someone who wants all of you, even the ugly parts. There’s a comfort in someone who wants to stay and doesn’t play mind games, who puts you first. And I’m staying. Subsequent conversations with him have shown we’d noticed each other from the first moment, but never had the chance to talk, until we both were ready to meet.

Here I am, in late 2018. It may sound cheesy, but it gets better. When I look at where I started, I see how far I’ve come. I’m still battling my demons, procrastinating my life away and I should probably get back to therapy just to keep some stability. In some ways, I am unhappy.

But I have found home in a place and in my friends, the people who have shaped me and supported me through the darkest times.

Maybe its beauty stems from the fact that it had to end. My heart is dripping with love for the people I have lost, but I am grateful for what I have with them and celebrate those connections in the one I have today.

I’ve learned that life is not just one or the other, but everything at once. It is tragic and surprising and heart-breaking and utterly beautiful. It cuts you and heals you and takes away and gives back tenfold. It’s full of endings and separations, and I think the best way to honour what has been is to thank the universe for experiencing it, and gracefully let it go. Just because something ends does not mean it wasn’t incredibly beautiful while it lasted.

Life isn’t so much about never going through bad stuff. It’s about making sense of the chaos and integrating the broken pieces into the good parts and loving them all the same. Life is death, life is life: you need to accept both to fully live.

And all I can say is, this year, I learned what it means to be alive.

#real life #mental health #by anne sophie #december 2018 #national letter writing day #end of the year reflections #tw: suicidal thoughts #alcohol cw

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amemixfan · 6 years

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Omg I can't get enough of your Jinhai Jubal and mc post! Could you possibly write another? If so, can the prompt be "I love him, not you!" Could you also do it ever MC cheats on Isuel?? Please with lovestruck on top???

Also answered: “You enjoyed it the first time, why not have it a second?”Continuation to “I’ll keep you warm” with Jinhai.The formatting didn’t stick the first time so I had to delete and repost. Sorry about that ^^’. A little more explicit than I’m used to. Warnings for cheating. Name used here is Hannah. ——Sometimes, I feel sick in my own skin. My body has become a cage that I want to escape. A foreigner’s touch has invaded me and locked me up in chains. I despise what I have let myself become even as I enjoy it. As terrible as it is, there is a thrill that comes from being with him-Jinhai. The forbidden fruit tastes so much sweeter, and I’ve learned that first hand. There is an edge of excitement to doing something that is wrong, and I’ve learned to take it as a high. My breath comes out in shallow pants as I adjust my clothing. My skin burns with a foreign touch and disgust lingers at the back of my mind, yet even I can’t pretend I did not enjoy it. I gather what little is left of my tattered dignity and self respect and rise to my full height. My fingers work on the lacing of my clothing and I silently mourn that my hair is a mess. I will have to fix it before leaving. “This was a mistake,” I hiss. It is a mistake, a terrible and twisted mistake, yet one I had plunged into headfirst. From his place next to the base of the tree, Jinhai gives a twisted smirk. He has already dressed and rests his back against the bark in a cruel afterglow. He looks like a cat that devoured a canary-A canary that offered herself up willingly. “You can pretend not to like it all you want,” he shrugs lazily and his smirk widens, “But you were screaming the entire time.”I clench my jaw, revulsion simmering at the pit of my stomach, and ignore him. My fingers go about pulling a leaf out of my hair. My entire body feels wrong and I will desperately need a bath to scrub away my regret-or attempt to anyway. The reality of the betrayal I have just committed begins to sink in and I have to bite down on my tongue to keep the tears at bay. I burn with self loathing and self hatred. It fills me up and threatens to shatter me. I walked into this. I asked for this. I agreed to this. I did this. I shake my head and move away. My legs ache and my body is sore, yet I try to ignore the pain. I pick up my fallen sword from feet away and contemplate burying the blade in my chest. Perhaps my death will cleanse my dishonor. The sun glints off the metal and I bite down on my lip this time. My lips are swollen and I know I will have a lot to account for when I get back to my encampment. My head suddenly aches from everything. “This will never happen again,” I whisper it to myself but of course he hears it. The snake that has tempted me into eating the apple, Jinhai, snorts to himself. He stands suddenly from his tree and stretches. His neck is red with bite marks, marks that match mine, and there’s scratches on his forearms. “We both know that’s a lie,” he tilts his neck sideways to crack it. I dig the sword into my hand and clench my fingers around the hilt until my knuckles turn white. “It’s not.”Another huff of laughter at the back of his throat. “You couldn’t stay away before and you won’t be able to stay away now. You will be back, little bird.”The idea to bury the sword in my body surfaces again and it seems more tempting this time. “I love him, not you.” I fling the sentence at him as if it would make a difference. As if the words will strike true and suddenly erase what has transpired between us. As if one phrase will suddenly send us back in time to a place where I did not hate myself and did not hurt the one person I cared about the most in life. Of course, the words fall flat. They reach Jinhai and disintegrate into nothing. The letters crumble like ash and he brushes them off with cold indifference. “You speak as if I care. I made it clear that I feel nothing for you. Your little Prince can have your heart, little bird, I just want your body.”At the mention of Iseul, I feel like vomiting. It is all I am to force the bile in my throat back down. My hands shake against the sword and I suddenly really need to leave. The woods seem to be closing up on me and a claustrophobia I have never felt before threatens to suffocate me. I spin around from him and face the way back to my encampment. My back serves as a wall between us, a wall he has already breached because I opened the gate, and I squeeze my eyes shut. If only time were a setting we could control. If only I could hit a button and send myself back in time. If only actions were words on paper you could drag an eraser through. If only…“This will never happen again,” I repeat. There’s no comment but I can feel the full extent of his stare on me. Jinhai’s gaze is amused, taunting, and I know he thinks of me a liar.The worst part is, I know I am one too. I trap my lip between my teeth and clench until it becomes painful. Shaking my head to keep from saying something else, I take a step forward and begin my walk of shame.

My walk of shame leads me to the camp Reiner has set up. Morning has casted its glow around us and people have begun to move about. My breath hitches when I spot Iseul to one side. He strings arrows on his bow when I approach. Upon seeing me, his face brightens and he comes forward. Affection shines in his gaze, a cold change from the lust that burned in Jinhai’s, and I have to remember how to breathe. A weird sense of panic fills me and I worry about the scarlet letter that I am sure has been scorched into my skin before Iseul throws an arm around me. “Hannah! You woke up early this morning,” he brushes a kiss on my cheek. Breathing suddenly becomes difficult and another wave of revulsion fills me. I plaster a smile on my face, something that feels impossible to do, and shake my head. “I wasn’t tired,” I murmur. My fingers brush a lock of his hair back-hair so similar to the one I had been tugging on hours before-and I suppress my shiver. A frown adorns Iseul’s features and he takes my hand in his. His fingers stroke my wrist where a dark mark is. Jinhai had held me down hard enough to have left an imprint on my skin. It is just another brand to ensure I do not forget what has transpired. As if my conscience would allow me to forget. “Are you hurt?” Concern shines in Iseul’s gaze and he scans me from head to toe. My clothing covers most of the marks and bruises, and I shiver with the realization that I am thankful for it. I tug absently at my collar and raise it higher with the paranoia that he will see something. I do not know whether it would be bad if he did. The false smile on my face strains just a little. “No, I was just practicing with my sword.”The lie falls flat in my ears, the bruises on my hands cannot be explained away with my excuse, but Iseul believes me. His smile softens again and he intertwines our fingers together. His lips brush across my knuckles and he nods in understanding. I clench my jaw so tightly I am worried my teeth will crack. An urge to spill my sins out fills me. I could tell him now, could bare myself to him, and beg for his forgiveness. I could be honest with him, take a weight off my shoulders, and deal with the punishment-But I am a coward. The words, ’I cheated on you. I’m sorry’, form on my tongue but won’t leave my mouth. The inside of my mouth feels like lead and I can’t get the phrase out. Thankfully, I never get the chance to gather my courage. Iseul gives a light tug to my hand and nods to where the other retainers are gathered. “We’re about to attack. Magnus’ forces haven’t spotted us yet, so we have the element of surprise on our hands. Do you want to have something to eat before we fight?”Food is an unwelcome concept now. If I consume anything, I will throw it back up. To devour something after being devoured feels terrible somehow. I push past it and shake my head. “No.”Iseul’s lips thin in worry, he mumbles something about me needing to eat, but he relents. I let him guide me to the retainers where war strategy is underway. The camp’s energy sings with the promise of battle. Our sneak attack will happen very soon, and a part of me wishes Jinhai would not survive it. Perhaps if he dies, my regret will die with him. Of course, I know this will not be the case.

Our sneak attack is another stalemate. We do not make any leeway against the Generals, but we also do not suffer heavy casualties. Our forces gather back after the remnants of the fight has disappeared, and we begin to plan our departure. Reiner has opted for us to stay at the Falke Inn for the next few days, and all of us have agreed. August’s family has welcomed us in and prepared rooms for each of us. A warm meal sits in front of us and a warm bed awaits us upstairs. I am sharing with Iseul, something he himself requested, and I’m not quite sure whether that’s a blessing or the beginnings of the divine punishment that awaits me. The soup scalds the inside of my mouth and feels wrong on my tongue. Every swallow is as heavy as lead. I haven’t felt alright since this morning. I swirl my spoon around my bowl. I’ve done something terrible, something I can never take back, and I don’t know what to do. I bear the regret and shame of it everywhere I go. This will be my punishment. Atlas was punished by carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I will be punished by carrying the weight of my guilt. An arm slides around my waist and I turn to Iseul. There’s color to his cheeks now, the hints of fairy wine on his breath, and he presses his mouth to the corner of mine. “Are you well, my love?” His voice is full of warmth and affection. I suddenly feel very sick. My hands push my bowl away. “Fine,” I reply. I stiffen as Iseul presses closer. He’s being as affectionate as always, yet I feel wrong. My skin burns with the touch of another and I worry he’ll feel it. They say elves have a keen sense of instinct, and I hope this is not the case. “If you are tired, we can go rest.”Iseul peers into my face. His warm eyes are bursting with love and affection. I have to swallow down my bile again. Where once his gaze filled me with warmth, it now makes the guilt on my shoulders feel heavier. “That sounds nice,” I reply. I stand from my seat as if on autopilot and take his hand. He dismisses us from the crowd. Reiner waves us away and Lady Falke wishes us a goodnight. Iseul leads us into our shared bedroom. The bed has been made for us and a warm fireplace crackles in the quiet room. “This is nice,” I remark. My fingers trace the duvet idly and I pretend to be my usual self. Iseul wanders towards me and his arms wrap around my waist. Suggestion lines the edges of his face and his mouth quirks up into something intimate. I can almost feel his intentions through the thin layers of our clothes. “You feel tense,” he remarks and his hands go for my shoulders, “Do you want a massage?”My mouth presses tight. I move away from his embrace no longer feeling worthy of it. “No,” my refusal is light and I go about removing my armor. Iseul blinks in surprise but recovers. The smile is back on his face in an instant and he assists me with a particular strap on my side that gives me trouble. His deft fingers undo the many buckles on the metal and he sets it aside reverently. When I’m in my clothing, his fingers go for the hem of my shirt. I feel another wave of desire go through him and his gaze darkens just a bit. I can sense what he wants before he has a chance to back me into the bed. I freeze as his hands come around me once more and he kisses me. He tastes foreign. A clout has fallen over him and I cannot remember a time where my mouth was not tainted with someone else’s taste. A part of me, a very large part of me, no longer feels worthy of being with him. I have been marred by sin and earthly desire and I don’t have a right to take this. Iseul is something incredible that I no longer deserve. Perhaps that should be my atonement. Perhaps I should deny myself that which I love most. As his hands come to rest on my hair, I have a flashback to this morning. Jinhai’s own hands had knotted in my hair as harsh and blasphemous sounds had fallen out of his mouth. I jolt at the memory and give a push to Iseul. It is light but enough to stop him. Unlike the snake I had given myself to in the morning, Iseul is willing to respect me. Green eyes widen in surprise and his lips part. “Hannah?” Iseul frowns in surprise and worry. I turn away from him and wrap my arms around myself like a barrier. My voice comes out strained and I have to bite back the emotions threatening to boil out. “I’m tired tonight. Sorry,” I reply. I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I curl into the blankets on the bed and give him my back. The room is quiet as Iseul gathers his thoughts. I hold my breath and wait for the line of questioning. His worry is apparent even from my place. I have been odd all day, have pushed him off, and have gone to sleep fully clothed. He must be confused and hurt. The bed dips with Iseul’s weight and he settles in next to me. I feel his breath on the back of my neck-And it is like I can feel Jinhai’s breath at the back of my neck too. I can almost feel his hands holding me in place as he moved from behind me. I snap myself out of the memory with a painful bite to my tongue. My eyes squeeze shut with regret and guilt and lust. Iseul’s hand comes to rest over my waist and he brushes a kiss to my hair. He settles in next to me as he does every night and I feel the soft beat of his heart at my back. “Goodnight, Hannah.”He seemingly refuses to question me, some part of him willing to respect my privacy, and I hold my breath until it hurts my lungs. Once his breath begins to even out with sleep, I let it go slowly. It is bad enough to have betrayed the one person I love more than life, but it is another thing entirely to not regret it. For some terrible, dark, and twisted reason, I regret the betrayal more than the act of betrayal itself.

The sun’s rays cast warm light across Iseul’s face. His features are relaxed in sleep and the soft light steaming in through the window illuminates his white hair and makes it seem like a halo. My fingers twist through the strands idly and I take in every feature of his face. He looks peaceful now, rested in sleep, and I memorize everything my eyes can see. As the morning drags on, my guilt begins to subside. I feel it like a dull ache more than the nauseating throb it was yesterday. I do not know whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. My lips press into a thin line and I move my arms. My body is sore from more than just the battle. The ache reminds me of the terrible thing that I have done-And how much I enjoyed it. In the end, I had enjoyed it. Jinhai was right. I could pretend to lie until I was blue in the face, but I had enjoyed it. There was a thrill to doing something terrible, a high from being with someone forbidden, and I could already feel a part of me wanting more. Like an addict, I craved more. My body was a traitor that already ached for more. It was almost like a thirst I had to quench. Guilt tugged me one way, but lust yanked me another. I lean down and brush my lips across Iseul’s cheek. A kiss of Judas. My fingers stroke at his cheek where my mouth had stained him. I feel tainted, blasphemous somehow, yet dark desire is already enveloping me. It is a cruel embrace, and it is one I cannot resist. Perhaps Jinhai was right. Perhaps I would go back to him. After all, if I had done so once, I could do it again. The thing about betrayal is that it is so much easier the second time around. Upon doing it once, doing it again isn’t as bad. The guilt is ever present but it becomes an afterthought. My eyes close and I press myself closer to Iseul. His heart sounds in my ears and his arms wrap tighter around me in sleep. “I love you,” I whisper. It is not a lie. I do love him, more than anything in the world, but Jinhai was right. Iseul has my heart, but he has the rest of me. I have gifted myself to him, and despite my best instinct, I know I will do it again.

The second crow finds me days later. Like the first, it perches on a windowsill and holds its leg out with a letter. I glance around the inn to make sure that no one has seen it before accepting its message. Jinhai’s scrawl is messy, yet I can recognize it. ”The woods at midday. Do not make me wait.”I scowl and tuck the letter into my pants. It is tempting to throw it into the burning fireplace, but I know I will answer it anyway. I move my hand to scare the crow away and make my way back to my friends. Altea is regaling us with a story of something, magic sparks shining at her fingertips as she uses them to heighten her story, and she hardly notices me as I slip behind Iseul. I press a kiss to the side of his mouth and bend down to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to train in the woods. Is that alright?”Iseul glances at me and raises his drink to his lips. “Do you want me to accompany you?”“No,” I reply, “Just wait for me. I’ll only be an hour or two.”Iseul seems confused for a second before he nods. He gives me a kiss and tells me to be careful. I swallow down my conscience and wave goodbye at him.

Like before, Jinhai is awaiting me at the same clearing. He grins when he sees me, a repulsive sight, and kicks off his tree. “I see my crow found you,” he scans me from head to toe. I hate the lust that burns in his gaze, but, more specifically, I hate that I echo it. “What do you want?” I snap it out at him and toss the crumpled note at his feet. He pays it no mind and advances on me. He leans up so that I am only a breath away. One hand comes to rest on a tree behind me, pinning me in place. “You know why I called you here,” his gaze is dark. I do know why, and damn me I’ve stopped caring. Betrayal is so much easier the second time. I shiver and bite my tongue to keep from saying anything else. My body is already quaking like an earthquake. I am like an addict an inch away from her fix. “You enjoyed it the first time, so why not have it a second?” Jinhai murmurs. I grind my teeth together. I am already locked out of Heaven, so why not take the apple? If I am damned, let me at least enjoy my fall from grace. “He can never know about this,” I squeeze my eyes shut. My whisper is to myself more than to him. He hears it anyway. A harsh laugh sounds at the back of his throat. It echoes in the clearing and resounds in my head. One finger curls under my chin to tilt my head up while his other hand digs into my back pressing me close. “Who would tell him? I do not care enough,” Jinhai remarks. “I care.”My reply is feeble, pained, and the guilt hurts me. I could step back now, end things before they’ve begun, yet I can’t bring myself to do so. A terrible part of me craves Jinhai like cocaine, and I can’t bring myself to say no. My body hums with desire and my morales are already bleeding out of me. I open my mouth and a quiet breath leaves it as Jinhai moves his head to the side of my neck. He finds my pulse and bites down harshly on it. It so painful I have to wince and dig my nails into his arm. My mouth twists into revulsion and pleasure all at once. “If you cared enough, you wouldn’t be here.”I wince, bury his words before they can bury me, and move my head. My mouth crushes against his and I tug at his clothing to press him closer. A pleased sound leaves his throat. Like a hunter, he has already caught his prey. And like Eve, I have already locked myself out of Eden.

“A mosquito?” Iseul’s fingers trace the red blotch on my neck. I glance at my reflection in the mirror and bite the inside of my cheek. My hand cups the mark and I angle my hair to hide it from view. “Yeah, they’re bad out there.”I inch towards Iseul as he settles on the bed. He takes me in his arms and presses his head into my shoulder. I worry he will smell something on me, the remnants of his scent on my skin, but he just smiles. A soft kiss is pressed to my shoulder and he brushes his hands on my sides. “You should train at the inn with us then. August has some training dummies you can practice with,” Iseul murmurs. I shake my head and accept another kiss on my cheek. “I like the woods better.”A shrug and another kiss. “Do you want me to train with you? You once asked me to teach you archery.”“No, I want to practice by myself.”Iseul frowns for a second, almost hurt by the dismissal, and I distract him with another kiss. My hands push him down on the bed and I straddle him. His line of questioning is forgotten then and desire ignites in his eyes. I ignore the jolt of shame as I kiss down his neck. There was a time where I didn’t use sex as a weapon, but that time has fallen away like the last of my dignity. I kiss his jaw lightly and a low growl leaves his throat. “Are you sure you want this?” His finger strokes my cheek. I know I’ve confused him last night by rejecting him. I nod my head. “Positive. I do want this.”

I do want this.The realization comes at the same time I do. My vision goes white and I shove Jinhai off me. I suddenly feel very cold all over. “It’s getting late,” I protest. The cold air is frigid against my skin. Jinhai rolls his eyes. His mouth twists into something cold and he moves away. There’s jagged scratches on his back and I can feel his skin under my nails. “Your Prince will miss you,” his voice is sarcastic, taunting. I slip on my clothing and twist my fingers through my hair to fix it. My skin smells of him, my mouth tastes of him, and I know I’ll have to bathe before going to see Iseul. It’s been weeks now and I’m getting better at hiding. I grind my teeth together and watch as the moonlight illuminates a bruise in the shape of a handprint against my waist. Iseul will no doubt see it which means that I will have to explain it away somehow. “We should stop this,” I hiss. Another wave of self loathing crashes against me. I dig my nails into my palm. Jinhai grunts in amusement and watches me. The remnants of lust are on his gaze and he smirks. “You would not last the week.”I ignore him and turn away. My fingers fix my clothing, soothing out the wrinkles and dusting off the soil. I frown to myself. “I could.”I can’t.He’s like a drug. When I don’t have him, I want him. The things Jinhai does to my body are entirely sinful and damning, but I love them. I crave him and think of him often. “We both know that is a lie,” Jinhai rebuffs, “The night is growing darker, little bird. Your Prince will no doubt be missing his ‘loyal’ lover.”I roll my eyes at him, call him an obscenity under my breath, and slip away from him. Betrayal is so much easier the hundredth time.

My breath comes out in shallow pants and I press myself closer. My pleasure peaks with a final roll of his hips and my head lolls back. I ride out my high as Iseul begins to shiver. My hands knot in his hair as he moves forward. I can feel him growing closer by the second. My body is aflame with desire. “Ji-Iseul,” I gasp out. I manage to correct myself at the last second and my stomach feels cold. I worry he will know of the horrible mistake I was about to make, but Iseul is lost to me. My name leaves his lips in a final groan and he pulls out of me. He settles next to me and takes a moment to catch his breath. I grind my teeth together and squeeze my eyes shut. That was close. Too close. I shiver and draw myself inwards. My arms wrap around myself and I bury my head into the pillows. How long ago did I start imagining Iseul as someone else?

“How long ago can you keep this up? The running around, the secrecy, the guilt?” Jinhai’s voice is cold. I press my lips together and dig my nails into my palms. “Shut up.”“It is marvelously entertaining, little bird. You carry such a heavy cloud of guilt around everywhere you go. Tell me, has your Prince begun to suspect?” He rests his head on his hand and peers at me. His dark eyes are glinting with malicious amusement. I’m a game to him, an entertainment. Asides from the lust I satisfy, I also quench his boredom. Seeing me run around trying to hide my sins is as satisfying to him as my body. I turn away from him and run my hands through my hair. “He doesn’t suspect me.”

He suspects me.Iseul’s features twist in a frown as August disarms me. My sword goes skidding from my grasp and lands at Saerys’ feet. Reiner claps his hands. “Nice try, Hannah, but you need to get more adjusted to your sword.”I let myself be hauled to my feet by August. My hands shake the dirt from my clothes and I wander back to Iseul as August gets ready to spar with Altea. It shouldn’t have been that easy to disarm me, not if I’ve been practicing by myself for months. “August is good,” I flex my arm at Iseul and plaster a fake smile on my face. “Do not be upset with me, my love, but I have not seen much of an improvement from these past few months. Have you been training hard?” Iseul tilts his head. There’s heavy sparks of doubt on his eyes. Fear gnaws at my stomach and I shrug. “I have been, but August is just that good.”He doesn’t believe me. Suspicion has taken hold of Iseul and his mind is already whirring with thoughts. I can see him beginning to doubt me. There’s a pain in his eyes. He doesn’t want to not believe me, but he can’t deny what his own instincts are telling him. He knows, a part of him knows, that things aren’t adding up. I shudder. “Perhaps I should train with you?” Iseul suggests. “No,” the word leaves my lips harshly. He recoils slightly and I clench my hands around my sword. “I like individual training.”Iseul’s lips thin again. There’s a heavy hurt in his gaze and a desperation there too. His hand reaches for mine and he holds it tightly. He wants to believe me so badly. He aches for any excuse I can give him. He suspects me but he is willing to accept a lie from me if only I will give one to him. I bite my lip. “I’ll train harder from now on.”My mouth offers him a quick peck. He returns it but the suspicion won’t leave his eyes. “Alright. I trust you, Hannah.”There’s a hidden depth to his words that nearly breaks me then and there. I return his second kiss and try to bury the guilt. I trust you, Hannah, but please don’t take advantage of that trust.

I am certain I will break things off with Jinhai. I make the decision in my mind the next night-Then promptly forget it once Jinhai begins to move. My body is lost to ecstasy and thoughts fall away. It is a full hour before I can begin to gather myself. Once I do, I regain my breath and run a hand through my hair. My heart is still racing and my skin is sensitive from my release. I slip my shirt on again and bite my nail. “I hate this,” I squeeze my eyes shut. “That is not what your screams say, little bird,” Jinhai snorts. He peers at me with a cruel grin. He likes to see me eaten by guilt, gets off on it, and I scowl. “I love him.”“I do not care. He can have your heart, I just want-““My body, I know.” I shake my head and grind my teeth together. Guilt gnaws at me and tonight feels wrong somehow. The atmosphere suffocates me and I wonder how I’ve been doing this for so long without going insane. Jinhai moves closer and gives a harsh tug on my hair. When I gasp, he swallows the noise and bites down on my lip. My hand automatically goes for his own hair where I knot my fingers in the strands. There’s a brief fight for dominance which I lose. He stakes his claim on me and withdraws once my lips are swollen. His finger goes to my neck where his hands have left a bruise. “Admit it. You enjoy me. I am better in bed than your Prince.”I shiver with desire. His voice is low and gruff and I feel excitement buzzing under my skin. “I love Iseul,” I reply. “And I do not love you, so it hardly matters. I just care about what you feel physically. You enjoy being with me, no?” Jinhai moves my hand down to the front of his pants. There’s a hardness there that makes me shiver with want. I close my eyes. “Jinhai…” I hiss his name in a warning. He ignores it and presses closer. “Admit it.”Now I’m the one with the warning. He wants to hear me say it out loud. Damn me, I shiver. I hesitate before keeping my eyes closed. My hand begins to move on him and he grunts a noise of pleasure. “What do you want me to say?” I whisper it against his mouth. “The truth.”With my eyes still closed, I nod. “You are better than him. I do want you,” I repeat it obediently. Now, there’s no twist of guilt. Perhaps I have fallen as low as I can then. “Happy?”Jinhai lets out a cruel laugh. He moves his face away from mine and raises his voice. His mouth is in a cruel smirk and his eyes glint with malice. “Oh I am very happy although I can’t say the same for our guest.”My blood runs cold and my heart nearly stops. Guest?I spin around in time to see Iseul. His mouth is wide with shock, eyes dark with pain, and he backs away. Cold fear and guilt wash over me. I move away from Jinhai and stand suddenly. My own body feels heavy. Iseul’s heartache is apparent in his next words. His voice is hardly above a whisper and there’s agony in his tone. “Hannah?”

#request #iseul idreis #jinhai jubal #lovestruck voltage #voltage amemix

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swanqueeneverafter · 6 years

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56. III-Boding Patterns, Pt.2

Wish Realm. Dark Castle. Dungeons. (Emma and Regina continue to talk.) Emma: (Seated on the bench:) “Everything was done for me, I never learned to defend myself. I was never allowed out of the castle alone. It was a nightmare.” Regina: “Then... how did you end up with Henry, in this world?” Emma: (Scoffs:) “Everyone rebels, even a Princess. One night I ran away. I got as far as the stables, and that’s where I found Neal.” Regina: “Wait a minute. (Stands:) Don’t tell me you had a fling with the stable boy?“ Emma: (With a rueful smile:) “He was exciting, he saw me for who I was. (Shakes her head:) At least I thought he did. Until he knocked me up and ran away with half the treasury.” Regina: (Sympathetically:) “Oh, Emma.” (Kneels before her, taking her hand.) Emma: “After that, my parents doubled my guard. They concocted a story about Neal being some heroic knight who died in battle protecting the kingdom. That’s the story Henry believed, and he’s wanted to be a knight ever since.” Regina: (Winces:) “Sounds like quite the life you had carved out here. Although, I’ve got to admit, Henry did look great in his armour.” Emma: (Smiles:) “He did, didn’t he? (Sighs:) By that point all the fight had been knocked out of me. I’d brought shame on my parents and I didn’t want that to happen again. So I just succumbed to the numbing palace life.” Regina: “But somewhere deep down, you were still hoping to be rescued?” Emma: (Laughs:) “Yeah, and we both know how much the real me hates the idea of being rescued. But, (Stands:) if I did have to let someone rescue me, I’m glad that it was you.” (They share a smile and then a soft kiss. As they part, Emma takes a deep breath, stands, and walks to the door.) Regina: “What are you doing?” Emma: (Holds up a nail from the bench:) “Getting back to my old self. I’m the Savior, right? I’m getting us out of here. (Putting the nail into the lock, she fumbles for a moment before the door swings open. Smiles, satisfied:) Shall we, Your Majesty?” (Regina smiles, impressed, and they quickly leave the cell.) Pinocchio’s Home. Exterior. (Emma and Regina arrive at Pinocchio’s home and watch him from the trees.) Regina: “All right, let's go.” Emma: (Gently holding her back:) “Oh. Shh, shh. Stay back. The whole kingdom wants your head on a spike. You'll just be a liability. Stay here.” (Regina stays hidden in the trees as Emma goes to talk with an old friend.)

Emma: (Approaching:) “Hey, there, Pinocchio.” Pinocchio: (Turns, surprised:) “Princess Emma. I-I'd heard terrible rumors you were captured by the Evil Queen. (He hugs her tightly:) I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you. What are you doing here? What happened?” Emma: “It's a long story.” Pinocchio’s Home. Interior. (Regina has joined Emma and Pinocchio inside.) Emma: “I know this sounds, well, crazy.” Pinocchio: “Long ago (Clears throat:) I desperately wanted to become a real boy. And it only took one person, my father, believing in me to make it so. I believe in you, Emma.” Emma: “Thank you.” Pinocchio: “You're welcome. (Looks to Regina:) So, why me? What can a simple wood carver do for you?” Emma: “Carve wood and get us home. Your father once made a magical wardrobe. It took me between realms.” Pinocchio: “My father passed. Years ago.” Emma: “I know. I have all of Princess Emma's memories, too, and I'm sorry. I was hoping that maybe you still have that wardrobe.” Pinocchio: “I remember the one you speak about. But, I dismantled it years ago. It reminded me of darker times. (To Regina:) No offense.” Regina: (Scoffs:) “None taken. This world became oh-so-much better after I was gone.” Pinocchio: (Stands:) “Maybe I can help. I know the enchanted grove where my father found the wood for the original wardrobe. I kept his tools so, perhaps we can replicate his work.” Storybrooke. Forest. (David follows Granny into the woods.) Granny: “Thanks for coming. He saw this woman in the diner and just went crazy.” David: “Do you know what set him off?” Granny: “No idea, I’d only seen the girl a couple of times before. She must’ve come from the Land of Untold Stories.” David: (Hearing yelling up ahead:) “All right, thank you, Granny. I’ll take it from here.”

Deeper Inside The Forest. (David runs towards the shouting and finds Will Scarlett stood yelling at a terrified woman on her knees.) Will: “Where is she? I know you’ve got her here somewhere, where is she?!” David: (His gun drawn:) “Will, that’s enough!” Will: “Stay out of this, mate. This has got nothing to do with you!” David: (Pulls him away:) “That’s where you’re wrong. It has everything to do with me when it comes to known felons harassing defenseless women.” Will: (Scoffs:) “This one here? Trust me, the last thing she is, is defenseless.” Woman: “Please, help me.” David: “It’s all right, no one’s going to hurt you.” Will: “You’re making a mistake here, mate.” David: “I am not your ‘mate’. And you’re coming with me. (As Granny catches up to them:) Granny, do you think you can look after...” Woman: “Eloise.” Will: “More lies!” David: (Tightening his grip on Will’s shoulder:) “Do you think you can take care of Eloise for me?” Granny: (Nods:) “Absolutely. (Granny walks forward and helps Eloise to her feet, as they pass, to Will:) You should be ashamed of yourself.” Will: “You don’t understand, mum, none of you do!” (David pushes Will ahead of him, back towards the town, when Eloise touches his arm.) David: “Don’t worry, no one’s going to hurt you anymore, I promise.” Eloise: “Thank you for saving me.” (Unnoticed by Granny and David, Eloise smiles knowingly at Will as he’s taken away.)

Wish Realm. Enchanted Grove. (Pinocchio, Regina and Emma walk in the Enchanted grove.) Pinocchio: (Approaching an old gnarled tree:) “Here we are.” Emma: “It's beautiful.” Pinocchio: “It survived the Evil Queen's reign.” Regina: “Clearly, its magic flourished.” Emma: “And this will get us home?” Pinocchio: “We'll see.” (Pinocchio kneels beside his father’s toolbox.) Emma: “So? Which one?” Pinocchio: (Lifting the tool from the box:) “The chisel. Ordinary tools are no good on enchanted wood. (Stands:) But this one, this one was special to my father. I just hope I can live up to him. (Walking towards the tree:) He said a true woodcarver must always be in conversation with his tool and his materials. (Regina watches as Emma holds up the sword in her hand and inspects it:) A sword, Princess? The Emma I knew was far more interested in fancy dresses and high tea.” Emma: “Where we come from, I'm not a princess. I'm a Savior.” Pinocchio: “Interesting jobs in your world.” Emma: (Chuckling:) “Yeah. (Motions towards her:) Regina’s the Mayor. Trust me, I tend to spend a lot more time around swords than dresses.” Pinocchio: “What exactly does a Savior do?” Emma: “A lot of things. I protect people. That's the gist of it, I guess.” Pinocchio: “So, why so glum? Seems like a good thing.” Emma: (Glances towards Regina before answering:) “Because the job comes with a destiny. I'm supposed to protect my family, but I die doing it. It's my fate. And this sword, this is what will finish me.” (Pinocchio is about to respond when a sword appears at his throat.) Hook: “Stop talking. Back away from the princess.” Emma: “Killian?” Regina: (Snorts:) “Hook?” Hook: “Don't worry, Princess. I'm here to rescue you. After I kill the Evil Queen.”

Regina: (Scoffs:) “I’d like to see you try, you blubbery landlubber.” Emma: (Suppressing a smirk:) “Regina, stop it. (To Hook:) Uh, okay, please, let him go.” Hook: “Princess Enya, please. Leave the daring rescue to the professionals.” Emma: “It's Emma.” Hook: “Who is?” (Regina begins laughing as Emma steps closer.) Emma: “Me. My name is Emma. I don't need to be rescued.” Hook: “Well, not anymore, thanks to Captain Hook, at your service. (As he bows, Pinocchio seizes the opportunity and swipes Hook’s sword from his hand:) Hey, now! (Groans:) That is not very sporting, mate!” Pinocchio: “Like the lady said, she doesn't need any rescuing.” Hook: ”The royal family does not agree. There's a handsome reward out for her return. Sword, please.” (Incredulous, Pinocchio looks back towards Emma as Hook makes his move to retrieve his sword. However, Pinocchio is too quick for him.) Emma: “Oh! Hook, please! We really don't want to hurt you!” Pinocchio: “I'm sorry, do you you know him?” Emma: “A version of him in the other world.” Regina: (Chuckling:) “Oh I know what happened. This is what Hook would look like if I hadn’t cast the Dark Curse.” Hook: (Seizing his moment, surges forward and picks up the chisel from the ground, pointing it at Pinocchio:) “Ah! Now you might have my sword, but I've got your... this thing.” Pinocchio: “Chisel.” Hook: “Now we duel.” (Regina rolls her eyes and walks away as the men begin to duel. After several parries and thrusts, Emma has seen enough.) Emma: (Stepping between them:) “Stop! (Suddenly she turns and swings at Hook, knocking him unconscious with the butt of her sword, Sighs:) Sorry, Hook.” Pinocchio: (Sees the chisel lying broken on the ground:) “Oh, no. (Picks up the pieces:) Oh, no.” Emma: “Can you fix it?” Pinocchio: “No. I cannot.” Regina: “Well, you have a whole other chest of tools. Maybe there's something else.” Pinocchio: “No, I need magic to carve the tree! (Throws down the broken chisel:) I'm not my father. I'm not good enough. I'm sorry you put your faith in me, Emma. I hope you never make that mistake again.”

(As he begins to walk away, Emma notices a wooden box lying in the toolbox. Picking it up, she sees that there is a tag attached which reads: ‘Emma’. Opening the box, she finds a small wooden swan figurine inside.) Emma: (Calling out to him:) “Wait! (Pinocchio stops and turns around. Holding up the swan:) What's this? It had my name on it.” Pinocchio: (Takes a deep breath:) “For the princess who has everything, happy birthday.” Emma: “Seriously, why this?” Pinocchio: (Sighs:) “I don't know. I guess I've always liked swans. Reminds me of a story my father used to tell me when I was dreaming of becoming real.” Emma: “Let me guess ‘The Ugly Duckling’?” Pinocchio: “You know it.” Emma: “Yeah, you could say that.” Pinocchio: “The duck who believed so deeply he could become a swan, he actually became one. My father always said, ‘Believe hard enough in something and you can change your fate.’” Emma: “What did you say?” Pinocchio: “You can change your fate.” (Emma’s mind’s eye flashes back to the memory of the boy under the bridge.) Regina: “Emma, what is it?” Emma: “It was you.” Pinocchio: “What was me?” Emma: “When I was a kid, in my world, you gave me some advice, and it changed my life.” Pinocchio: “You became the swan.” Emma: “Yeah, I did. (Pinocchio smiles. Emma picks up another chisel from the box and hands it to him:) You can do this. If you believe you're a puppeteer, you will be a puppeteer. But if you believe you're a master carver and as good as your father ever was, then your fate changes.” (Taking the chisel, Pinocchio walks over to the tree. Placing the chisel against it, he takes a deep breath, before beginning to strip the bark from the tree.) Pinocchio: (Smiling as it works:) “Looks like the Swan and the Queen are going home.” Wish Realm. Dockside Tavern. (Having staggered back to the tavern with his tail between his legs, Captain Hook sits drinking amongst the raucous crowd. Suddenly, the tavern doors open and a hush falls over the room. As the tall dark figure approaches the pirate, the other patrons avert their gaze.) Hook: (Sighs, not looking up:) "Is it too much to hope you're here to buy me a drink?" Dr. Facilier: "Actually, Captain, no. I'm here to talk to you.” Hook: “One doesn't usually come to a tavern for talking. (Finally looking up at the man. Taking in his appearance:) I must admit, life as a pirate does allow for the opportunity to meet some colourful characters, but you? You are a strange one.” Dr. Facilier: (Takes a seat opposite:) "What if I were to tell you I was here to give you a second chance?" Hook: "A second chance at what, my boy? My life's great. I have work that I adore, I answer to no man, and I sleep under the stars. Who could ask for more?" Dr. Facilier: "A second chance at love." (Hook considers the man in front of him for a long moment, then leans forward.) Hook: "Listen, you seem like a lovely young man, but I'm afraid-" Dr. Facilier: (Cutting him off:) "I wasn't talking about myself, Captain. I was referring to the Princess." Hook: "You mean, Urma?" Dr. Facilier: (Sighs:) "Princess Emma, yes." Hook: (Intrigued, strokes his chin:) "Really?" Dr. Facilier: "Follow me to the back room and I'll tell you my plans." (As Facilier stands and walks to the back of the tavern, Hook thinks for a second, before scrambling to his feet to follow him.) The Back Room. Hook: (Stumbling into room:) "Now what's this all about, mate? How the devil am I supposed to end up with a wench as comely as the princess?" Dr. Facilier: "You just leave that to me." (Raising his hand, Facilier holds up a bottle. Pulling the stopper, the contents begin to swirl into the air, enveloping Hook in a red mist.)

Pinocchio’s Workshop. (Pinocchio is hammering out the finishing touches to the wardrobe as Emma and Regina look on.) Emma: “You did it. I knew that you could.” Pinocchio: “Thank you, Emma. For believing in me.” Emma: “I'm just repaying the favor. Your father would be proud.” Pinocchio: (Nods and puts down his tools:) “Well, it's a little rough around the edges, but I think it'll do.” Regina: “And, we do have to go.” Pinocchio: “Are you sure about this? From what I’ve heard, you’re destined to die in your realm.” Emma: “No. (Looks to Regina:) We make our own fate.” Pinocchio: (Picks up her sword:) “Then maybe, at least, you should leave this here.” Emma: “No. I think despite what it’s fated to do, it’s meant to come with us.” (Pinocchio nods and opens the wardrobe doors.) Regina: (Sincerely, to Pinocchio:) “Thank you.” (Smiling, Pinocchio humbly puts his hand on his chest and bows. Returning the smile, Regina walks forward and takes Emma’s hand. Together, they step inside the wardrobe, and vanish.)

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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gold-from-straw · 6 years

Text

Reassembled - final chapter!

I’ve never had a story take THIS LONG to finish before omg! (well, apart from all those half-finished first drafts of novels I’ve got in my drawer... shhh!) I think this is finally done, though I’m not ruling out some future fluffy slice of life scenes, similar to the ones I started with! If you’d like to read from the beginning, here it is, but otherwise, here’s a chapter of Frigga being the true BAMF that she is ^_^

Frigga felt the adrenaline rise in her blood as she followed her husband into the mortal’s conference room. With a tiny nod to her, Agent Coulson placed the slim tablet on the table and retreated, closing the door behind her, the Allfather, and their guards.

“Frigga,” he said, his voice as steel-lined as it always was in his dealings with diplomats and his second son. “I demand to know the meaning of this behaviour.”

“If you will not listen to reason, husband…”

“Listening to reason is one thing entirely, and you know you have my ear at any other time. But to present a disunited front to a clan of simple-minded mortals? This is unlike you. You have always been a consummate diplomat.”

Frigga snorted and dropped her facade of patience. “Do not treat me as some vassal or disappointing apprentice. You know very well what has driven me to these ends.”

“Loki,” he growled.

“Indeed, Loki. Your son. Or, as you have made clear, my son alone.”

“He has never been your son. He is but a political prisoner who has been treated extraordinarily well, and has repaid such treatment with dishonour and treachery!”

Frigga did not allow the pain in her heart to show on her face. How had she let things get so far? “He is not a tool, Odin, but a young man, a prince, of whom you should be proud. He has forsaken his birthright—“

“His birthright was to die as a child, abandoned on a rock!” Odin roared. “It was I who saved him from such a fate, who brought him to not only safety but a life of opulence. But of course, I should have known better than to expect loyalty from a Frost Giant.”

Frigga gritted her teeth. “Loyalty is earned by more than a single act carried out in secret.”

“Indeed, but it is usually expected of a son towards his father!”

Odin’s hypocrisy had long driven Frigga to circular arguments, and with an effort, she suppressed the expression of surprise that she longed to make, that suddenly Odin called Loki ‘son’ once more. “That sort of blind loyalty is what leads misguided young men to attack another realm, having learned to demand absolute obedience from their subject at their father’s knee. You cannot have it both ways, Odin!”

“And now you would have that attack go unpunished?” he demanded, as if seeing a weakness at which to strike. “You dare to speak for the Jotun, say that the attacker of their world should be allowed to frolic in freedom with his new pets rather than serve time for his attempted destruction of their entire realm?”

“I had been referencing Thor’s invasion, but now that you mention it…” Frigga worked quickly, not sure when she would get a better opening. With a gesture, one of her handmaidens brought forth the prepared anchor for the communication portal, and Frigga opened it with a burst of magic. “Helblindi, can you hear me?”

The Jotun king appeared in the portal, only his chest and head in view, and behind him, an entire court, arms clasped in respect and apprehension. “I see you, Queen Frigga. Well met.”

“Well met, indeed.” She stepped back so Odin was in view, and saw him straighten and apply his regal mask, face impassive. “I received your communique and was delighted to hear of the return of your people’s fortune.”

Helblindi bowed his head, as they had rehearsed. “Indeed, your majesty. It is my deep pleasure to report that the replacement Casket is working better than any of us could ever have expected.”

Frigga noticed the sudden tension almost radiating from Odin in sharp spikes, and offered up a desperate prayer to the Norns, but Helblindi was as talented a wordsmith and showman as his brother. He stepped aside to show the green-blue artefact glowing at the centre of the great temple, surrounded by a people who looked, already, so much healthier than they had done the last many centuries. “When we received word that the Casket of Ancient Winters had been lost, we were in despair. And then, to hear that you, Odin Allfather, were sending your own two sons to bring succour to our people and to repair the damage they had wrought! It was a balm to freeze many a heart molten in grief. This replacement has already done so much for our world, and will surely stand as a symbol of peace between our two great realms for millennia to come. I look forward to resuming diplomatic exchanges and trade in the next few months ahead.”

Frigga did not allow her smile to change in quality in any way, even though she wanted to bark an hysterical laugh at the Jotun king’s audacity, sneaking in that last statement that they had not discussed. She felt pride glow in her heart. This Helblindi may be young, but he would be no toadying fool, and he would grasp everything he could for the good of his people.

If Odin did not call their bluff, and declare outright war for their deception.

When Odin smiled through gritted teeth and inclined his head graciously, Frigga nearly wept in relief. “I am glad to see our reparations have been well received. Let us walk together towards a more peaceful relationship between our two great lands as once we did, and put the foolishness of the war behind us where it belongs.”

At his words, the Jotun court raised their hands and ululated in joy. Helblindi’s face split into a genuine smile that made Frigga’s heart ache. He looked so much like her Loki in one of his rare unguarded moments.

As the final platitudes were exchanged, and the portal closed, Frigga took a moment to savour the tentative victory before turning to face Odin again. He looked at her, expression blank, and she felt the anxiety of a young bride still battling an arrangement. She straightened her back, and smiled instead of cringing. She would win this time. “It appears there is no crime to punish.”

He stood in silence for a moment. “Leave us,” he said softly to the Einherjar and her maidens both. The women looked, with no uncertainty, towards her before they made any move to obey. Frigga saw his temper rise and told herself she was not afraid, simply excited at having won another point. She held his gaze and said aloud, “will you give my husband and I our privacy, handmaidens?”

The women bowed as one. Their long, elegant skirts would never shift to show the extent of their freedom, the number of weapons they concealed. The loose bodices appeared to conceal plump chests and bellies, but instead guarded lightweight dwarven armour and powerful muscle. Frigga had trained each and every one of her maidens, and they knew well that she could protect herself without them, too. They turned and walked demurely to the door, curtsying daintily to the Einherjar who held it open for them.

Odin waited until the sound of footsteps had faded to stillness, the loyal servants just outside at wait in the corridor. At last he spoke, his voice as expressionless as his face. “You dare defy me like this?”

“I dare much more in the name of my children,” she said, and unlike him, allowed her voice to fill with just a hint of the depths to which she would go. To which she should have gone many years before.

“You seem to think you are indispensable to me.”

She shook her head, and her blood thundered in her ears. “Indeed, I know otherwise, husband. I know there are none you would not forsake in your pursuit of power.”

“Of power?” he demanded. “Have I not been a faithful guardian of all nine realms for millennia? Have I not cared for your realm, and all others, keeping them safe from the marauders of the rest of the galaxy? How deep does this betrayal go, Frigga?”

The hint of hurt in his voice almost caught her, but she shook her head, as a cue to herself as much as him. “Do you know, Odin, that the humans have words for such as you? Narcissist. Abuser.”

“Abuse!” He scoffed. “You know not the meaning of the word! I have never treated you or our children with any cruelty, and only brought punishment for crimes that deserved it! As with any of my subjects, had their behaviour been above reproach, there would have been no reproach. All punishment was brought to them by their own hand.”

“There is a word they have for such insidiousness too,” she continued, almost conversationally. “They call it gaslighting. When a person in power manipulates another to believe that they are misremembering events, or feeling emotions incorrectly, or thinking incorrectly. As a woman who has long been lauded for her intelligence, I am ashamed that I have allowed it to continue so long, but I have been assured that there is no shame to be placed at the victim’s door. And yes, I am not ashamed to count myself a victim either. What I am ashamed about is that I have allowed you to victimise our sons, particularly Loki, for so many centuries in this way. Indeed, I have added to his suffering, telling him you have a reason for all you do, when even I could not see it. That ends today, Odin. You have stricken Loki from your bloodline, but I have taken him into mine. He is my son, and I shall allow no-one to threaten him, or his brother.”

“And so, because Frigga wills it, he is now free to commit his crimes across the galaxy?” Odin scoffed.

Frigga did not allow him to continue. She had come to the end of her patience, and it was time to bring this conversation to a close. “I know about Hela.”

Odin’s voice, his very breathing, seemed to come to an abrupt end. He stared at her, and Frigga wondered if the faintest hint of fear had crept into his visage. “Hela.”

“Indeed,” she said. “Your firstborn child. She who fought to please you in every way, and when she became too much of a threat - too much like you - she was locked away. I imagine she would be interested to receive another visit from her stepmother.”

“You would not—“

“I would,” she said, and could not hold back the viciousness. “I have failed my children, I have held back while I watched you build them up only to tear them down, time and time again. Make unreasonable demands, and then punish them for failing and for succeeding in meeting your expectations. You have wanted puppets, and will never see the worth in any of your children as they are, as I have wished for so long. It is over, Odin Allfather. Should you ever make a threat on either myself or my children, I shall not hesitate to ally myself with Hela.”

Odin was on her in an instant, his hands at her throat. “I should kill you where you stand!”

She smiled, calmed her heart. “And do you think I have not prepared for such an eventuality? You may never have admitted it aloud, but you know in your heart it is true - I have always been more skilled at magic than you, and have always been able to find a hole in your workings.”

Odin’s face paled. He stepped back and she stood upright once more, not allowing herself to touch her throat, to breathe any differently. It was no empty threat. Should she die, Hela’s prison would become her throne, all of Frigga’s power flooding her veins. She would prefer a longer term approach, one which would temper the poor girl’s broken fury, and she had… plans to that effect. But if safety was denied her and her sons, she would settle for revenge.

Without a word, Odin swept from the room. Frigga waited until he had marched down the corridor before slumping slightly, taking a deep breath.

She walked over to Agent Coulson’s tablet and lifted it from the desk, turning it so that the screen faced upwards. “Agent Fury, it is good to see you once more.”

“The honour is all mine, your Majesty,” said the image of Fury on the screen. He sat behind a great wooden desk, hands clasped in front of him. “I’m glad to see you remain unharmed. I must admit to being concerned there once or twice.”

She smiled and was glad the man had only been able to hear, not see, else the assassins she was sure he had secreted around the room would have surely come to her rescue, as unnecessary as it was. “Your support and hospitality has been invaluable, Agent,” she said instead. “I believe we have been successful in our endeavour.”

He nodded once. “It sounds that way, for now. And you’re sure Odin will not decide to attack at a later date?”

She shook her head. “He may have done so had he been able to reach Midgard earlier. But with the destruction of the Bifrost, he has been forced to only observe your world, and see the full power of your heroes. Not only yours, but those in Japan, Wakanda, England, and many others. Beyond that, the simple force of numbers of you humans has been enough to give him pause. Even so, as we discussed, my handmaidens will each be dispatched to provide the gifts you requested.”

“A pleasure doing business with you, your Majesty. With the apples distributed carefully we may have some chance of protecting our world in the long run… the very long run.”

“It will almost certainly be the last time we can provide such a payment for your assistance. I hope you have taken that into consideration?”

“Princess Shuri of Wakanda has several contingency plans already in place,” he said. “And I imagine Stark and Banner will be able to take similar steps.”

Frigga allowed a full grin to split her face. “In that case, I shall leave you to your logistics,” she said. “Well met, Agent Fury.”

“God speed,” he said wryly, and the screen went blank.

She left it on the table, then stepped out into the corridor. Her handmaidens arranged themselves at her back as she walked out into the common room to see her sons, her beloved sons, in a tight embrace, Loki sobbing in his brother’s arms as Thor comforted him. For a moment she wasn’t sure she would be able to speak around the lump in her throat. When she did it was a croak. “My sons.”

#FrostIron #my writing #bamf frigga #narcissism #gaslighting #Reassembled

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