#but thankfully she not only recognizes my voice but also has a very positive association with it and me

[scoriarose]

My my baby blue!

Did you know that when snakes are about to shed their eyes get all cloudy and often take on a blueish tint? That's why snakes about to shed are called "in blue"!

It's best not to handle them during this time, as not only is it often scary to be unexpectedly picked up, they can't see what's going on or where they are. They also need that energy to take on the task of shedding, which is a lot of work!

One way some snarents help make this time less scary is through regularly talking to their snakes while raising them and building a positive association- that way, even though their snake is partially blind for a few days they can hear their caretaker's voice and can feel safe knowing that big shadow isn't a scary predator - they recognize the voice of their protector! <3

[kitty-ray]

Something Like Home Ch. 2

Hey so I really liked this story so I decided to make a second chapter. Basically it’s more bkdk fluff (here’s part one) 

AO3 

Katsuki suddenly has a lot to think about. Last night, totally unprompted and totally not unwelcomed, Deku decided on his own free will to crawl into Katsuki’s bed and demand Katsuki to hold him. Honestly? Who is Katsuki to refuse such an offer?

However, this is Deku we’re talking about. The same fucking Deku that would snivel and cry yet not give up in a fight no matter how beaten down he was. The same fucking Deku Katsuki watched time and time again almost die because he has no value on his life (which, side not, that is something they are definitely going to have to talk to him about). The same fucking Deku that’s been on the edge of his mind for his whole life. Sure, some of those thoughts lingered around Deku’s mouth. And yes, maybe some of those thoughts led elsewhere, but that’s beside the point!

Katsuki grabs his pillow and screams into it. How, oh how, did Katsuki Bakugou ever get in a situation like this?

See, this wouldn’t normally be an issue if it weren’t for the fact that Katsuki’s heart was most definitely slamming against his chest almost all last night. He’s only ever associated that feeling with a fight, and Katsuki knows for a fact that they weren’t fighting.

Katsuki’s not dumb. He’s not entirely immune to emotions and feelings. Hell, he’s had his fair share of crushes in his life, but those were way before middle school. (Okay, that’s a lie. He may or may not have had a crush on a few of the boys in his class, but those were quickly pummeled away before they could go any farther. Don’t tell Kirishima.)

What he’s feeling for Deku is definitely not a crush. It’s more of a… childhood friends turned enemies turned rivals turned hey, let’s occasionally sleep together because neither of us knows how to sleep alone anymore, yeah? That’s it. That is exactly what they are.

“I,” Katsuki whispers to his ceiling, “do not like Deku. I hate him.”

He did not, but it’s easier to say that than anything else. This mantra repeats in his head until he’s almost certain that he believes it. It seems to work, especially when they’re in the locker room almost a week later and somebody brings up relationships.

“Yeah, we’re going to go get lunch Sunday. Got the release forms and everything,” Sero says to the Kaminari. He grabs his uniform jacket. “I’m really excited.”

Kaminari slaps Sero on the back. “Hell yeah, man! Hey, does she have any single friends?”

“Dunno, but I can ask.”

“Sero, my pal, my dude, you are the bestest friend ever.”

“Pretty sure that’s not a word, Kaminari.”

Katsuki frowns into his locker. He should have expected this. They’re high school students, so dating is not totally out of the question. He can’t help but feel slightly behind in that regard.

But then he reminds himself that if he’s going to be the Number One Hero™, then he has no time for trivial things like relationships and dating and (dare he say it) kissing.

“So, Midoriya,” the grape fucker’s voice rings out. Katsuki tries not to look at them. “You’re popular with the ladies. I caught you behind the school the other day with some pretty girl confessing! Tell me, tell me! She’s got big boobies, right? You said yes, right?”

Kirishima walks over, crossing his arms. His mouth curls in disgust. “Dude, too far.” Then he looks up to Deku. “But yeah, Midoriya. We all heard about it and kinda want to know how it went.”

Next to him, Deku’s face goes bright red. Katsuki denies the fluttering in his stomach, choosing to ignore whether it’s because of delight or jealousy. He pulls out his tie, pretending not to listen.

“Oh, well, um…” Deku’s voice trails off, and out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki can see how red his face is. Cute. Turning back to his locker, Deku hides his face. “I turned her down,” he whispers.

This time, the butterflies Katsuki elects to ignore are definitely from delight.

Deku comes again, later that week. Katsuki’s full attention is on his small TV screen, the controller in his hand warm from lengthy use, and he’s just about to beat the boss when there’s a knock at the door. Quickly, he pauses it, the threat dying in his throat when the door opens and Deku slips inside.

“The fuck? Deku, it’s late.” Katsuki says, rocking his chair back. It takes a second to register his red-rimmed eyes and shiny lips. By then, Deku has already made his way to Katsuki.

He fully expects him to climb into Katsuki’s bed, as per their unsaid rules of whatever the hell it is they have going on, but Katsuki only stares in amazement as Dekuk crawls into his lap and buries his face into Katsuki’s shoulder. “H-hey!” he splutters. Real smooth.

“I’m sorry,” Deku whispers. His arms loop Katsuki’s middle. “Just go back to your game. I’ll move if I’m in the way.”

Suddenly, he is infinitely grateful that Deku isn’t looking at him because his face is certainly a bright shade of red. He doesn’t say anything to Deku before unpausing the game and finishing the fight. It’s hard to play like this, but Deku’s warmth and sobs keep him from moving, so he stays. If this is what the nerd needs, then the nerd gets.

A cut scene comes along, and Katsuki takes this opportunity to hug the nerd back. He won’t let himself go any farther; no kisses or sweet nothings to be had. Sure, he might have slipped up a few nights ago (okay, twice, but who’s counting?), but Deku was asleep then! He wouldn’t have noticed! Not like now when he is very, very much awake and very, very much moving.

It’s not a lot of movement, but every time the nerd shifts his hips to get comfortable, Katsuki notices. Oh boy, does he notice. It’s a totally normal reaction for a teenage boy to have on his crush rival! Especially when said rival is sitting on his lap and practically grinding on him.

Deku’s fingers grasp the bottom of Katsuki’s shirt, and he nearly explodes. Okay, Katsuki, think of puppies, kittens, Kirishima’s god awful--shit no, don’t think about Kirishima! Girls, think of girls! Mom and Dad! Oh, shit, I got to call them, don’t I?

“Kacchan,” Deku whispers, his small voice bringing Katsuki out of his attempt to calm down. “Thank you.”

“For what, nerd?”

On the screen, Katsuki’s avatar finds a treasure chest full of useless items. He’ll have to sell those later to buy something good.

Deku doesn’t answer, so Katsuki focuses his attention back on the game. He feels Deku’s lips on his neck. It’s soft, barely there, and probably not intentional, but it makes his brain go haywire nonetheless. He fumbles while trying to take down the miniboss and loses half a life.

Eventually, Katsuki has enough and saves the game. Deku shifts again. “Oh. Are you done?”

He grunts in response. The controller hangs loose in his hands as he wraps his arms around Deku, hearing him squeak. It takes a couple of seconds for the nerd to relax again, but when he does, he starts crying again.

“I had a nightmare again,” Deku whispers. Saying nothing, Katsuki rubs his back. His mom used to do that when he was a kid, and it never failed to make him feel better. Occasionally, whenever Deku would sleep over and he’d have a nightmare, she would rub his back, too.

Katsuki buries his nose into Deku’s curls. They’re still wet and frizzy from his bath. (That’s another thing they’re going to have to talk about.) “Wanna…” he pauses, unsure of himself. “Wanna talk about it?”

They don’t talk about the nightmares. It’s another unspoken rule between the two; you have a nightmare and you go back to sleep. That’s just how they did it.

But this time is different. The last time was different, too. Deku came in here, on his accord, asked Katsuki to hold him, and dealt with the nightmares in a different way. So, yeah, maybe their unspoken rules can be bent and broken once in a while.

Deku sniffles and pulls away, green eyes glassy. The light from the TV and desk lamp makes it hard to see anything but shadows on his face, but Katsuki has known Deku long enough to know exactly how he looks crying. “It’s stupid,” Deku mutters.

“Yeah, and so is Dunce Face, but we still put up with him.”

“You don’t.”

“That’s not the point. What’s the nightmare?”

He cracks a smile before wiping his eyes. “I’m going to tell Kaminari you said that.” Seeing Katsuki’s determined stare, Deku sighs. “Sometimes, I dream of you dying. Or it’s me. Or it’s everyone else. I just… I feel so helpless and I can’t do anything about it and-and--” His words are cut off as he gasps for air. “They just won’t stop.”

Katsuki does something he might regret; he takes Deku’s face in his hands. It’s wet underneath his palms, but he doesn’t pay attention to that. He does, however, pay attention to how soft his cheeks are or how bright his eyes shine. Katsuki suddenly feels the urgent need to kiss him.

“Do you…?” he starts to ask but trails off. This has never been a spoken thing between them. If he says it out loud, he might break the fragile thing they have set up. They’re swimming through uncharted territory, fumbling along as they try to make sense of what is up and what is down.

Thankfully, Deku seems to know what he’s trying to say. A scarred hand lays across one of Katsuki’s as Deku smiles at him. “Can I?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

It doesn’t occur to Katsuki until now that he could be asking a double-loaded question. What he means to ask is if Deku wants to sleep here, yet he also recognizes that he very well could be asking to do more. He tries not to look down at Deku’s lips, tries to keep his gaze locked onto Deku’s, but he ultimately fails. Hopefully, Deku doesn’t notice.

He does notice, and Katsuki notices him noticing, and it’s enough to make his heart do somersaults.

There’s a new question hanging between them. This one is exhilarating and terrifying and makes Katsuki rethink his entire position about relationships and dating and (he dare says) kissing. His fingers find their way to the curls at the nape of his neck. They’re not as soft as Katsuki thought they would be, but they still feel nice.

Katsuki nods, answering both questions at once.

At first, his lips are barely there, but when Katsuki doesn’t pull away, he presses further. He rather likes his lips. He also likes how Deku is obviously just as inexperienced as he is, and he especially likes how Deku breaks up the kiss because he’s smiling.

“I, um, yeah.” Deku rests his forehead on his. “Was that okay?”

Katsuki opens his eyes, and he sees that he’s already looking back at him. His cheeks are still wet from his tears, which he finds disgusting. Unfortunately, his tissues are too far away.

“It was fine or whatever.”

Deku knows he’s lying; his shit-eating grin tells him so. He pokes at Katsuki’s ribs, causing him to yelp. “It was fine, Kacchan?” Deku laughs. “Only fine?”

“Ah! S-stop! Deku!”

“Admit it! It was good!”

Katsuki locks eyes with him, his own fingers coming up to Deku’s sides. When Deku squeaks, he smirks. “I will say no such thing.”

“Kacchan! Sto-o-op!”

There’s banging on the wall before Kirishima yells, “Shut up!”

They try to wiggle away from each other, but with Deku’s legs locked around Katsuki’s waist and Katsuki balancing in his chair, they only manage to crash on the floor. Groaning, he rubs his arm. “Fuck you,” he mutters.

“You okay?” Deku’s green eyes are alight with mirth as he stares at Katsuki. It makes his heart flutter with unease and excitement. He nods.

In this moment, he realizes that his stupid face is actually rather beautiful. The soft glow of the desk lamp highlights his freckles and scars, his cheeks flushed from laughter, and Katsuki thinks he might be falling a little bit. They’re staring at each other, both not wanting to break this tension. It’s electrifying and exhilarating and makes Katsuki absolutely terrified of what he’s feeling. Deku’s legs are entangled with his, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching over and interlacing their fingers together.

“I liked it,” he whispers, almost afraid to break this little bubble of theirs, and they don’t break eye contact as he whispers, “and I think I’m starting to like you.”

Deku smiles at him. “I think I’m starting to like you, too.”

It takes them several moments for them to even think about getting into bed, and when they do, Katsuki doesn’t hesitate to pull him close. His fingers trace random fingers on top of his shirt, and he smiles. Maybe crushes aren’t so bad after all.

[novantinuum]

Hollowed Moon (Ch. 1-3)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (for sensitive content in later chapters)

Words: 1.5K~

Summary: Stevonnie doesn't crash the Star Skipper onto that jungle moon. Instead, they crash on a craggy fragment of rock suspended thousands of miles away from its associated colony, long forgotten.

On that lonely hunk of rock is a domed garden.

And standing in that garden, just as lifeless seeming as the rest of it, is a pink Gem.

Okaay, so this is the beginning of a little series of drabbles I’ve been posting on AO3 over the last two weeks. It’s an AU that diverges from just after Lars of the Stars. I have seven chapters posted already on AO3. Link to that will be posted in the reblogs, for anyone interested.  

Ch. 1

The force of the impact nearly vibrates through their bones as the Star Skipper hits the surface, throwing them against the cockpit’s control panel at such speed that they barely have enough time to put up a bubble. Thankfully, ‘enough’ is all the time they need. In but a millisecond the world tints pink. Following momentum, their neck snaps forward, causing their head to smash against the solid barrier. Stevonnie yelps, vision going temporarily woozy. It takes a while for them to fully recover, with the wrecked remains of the ship spinning like a top from their perspective as they slowly lift a quivering hand to their forehead to check for wounds. They groan, nearly every square inch of their body aching something terrible, but there’s nothing. No blood, no easily distinguishable breaks, nada. Lucky them! Score, Stevonnie one, busted, broken spaceship zip.

It must be your healing powers keeping us in one piece, ‘cause that was one really violent crash.

Well, also my bubble is pretty strong!

“Hah, well... we’re lucky even a bubble got me outta this scrape,” they murmur out loud, and let out a shaky breath as they attempt to ground themself. Taking a cursory glance around, they notice that the cockpit’s window has shattered, leaving the ship open to the vacuum of space. At least, they’re assuming it is. Whatever hunk of rock it is they’ve crashed on, it doesn’t appear to have an atmosphere. “Oh boy, guess I gotta keep this thing up for a while,” they say with a nervous laugh. They press their cheek against the bubble’s rim, peering at the cracked display screen. “Now, I wonder if any of this tech is salvageable...”

Stevonnie shifts in the seat. Without any iota of warning the ship’s engines explode, launching their protective bubble hundreds of feet closer to the very stars they’re lost amongst.

Oh, what a day it’s been.

Ch. 2

This shard of planetoid isn’t particularly large, but it has just enough mass that its gravity pulls Stevonnie’s wildly spinning bubble back to the surface. Their heart pounds as the bubble collides hard upon the craggy surface, bouncing a few times before finally coming to a rest. They gasp for breath, pulling themself to their knees.

“Aughh, my everything hurts.”

Slowly but surely they rise to their feet, their knees still shaking. All around them, the remains of the Star Skipper (may she rest in pieces) are now barely distinguishable, nothing left but melted twists of scrap metal. Even if there was any possibility of fixing up the communication array earlier, it’s a moot point by now. 

Steven, how are we gonna-?!

“Oh, no, no no no no!” they cry out, gripping at their hair. “Oh, this is bad. This is so, so bad. How is Lars gonna be able to find us now?”

They adjust the straps of the backpack around their shoulders and begin pacing as they continue to talk to themself, walking back and forth across the dust and rock within the bubble like a hamster in a ball.

“Okay, Stevonnie, calm down,” they say, hugging their arms around their chest. “We’re fine. I’m fine! Let’s just work this out bit by bit. So. We’re stuck on some weird asteroid, or something. We have no ship. No means of communication. We’re safe in this bubble... for now. But... I honestly don’t know how long I can keep this up. I don’t usually use it longer than a few minutes at a time.”

What about when we first met?

“That’s different, though,” they stress, plopping down to sit crisscrossed. “That time he didn’t summon it voluntarily. And that time, we weren’t stuck in the vacuum of space! Although... Okay. Okay, we were stuck under the ocean, fair point. And I guess there’s that time Steven was marooned with Eyeball. But still. It’s only been a few minutes and I’m already... so... so tired.”

Stevonnie’s breathing grows shallower, each puff of air coming in staccato gasps in their exhaustion. They grit their teeth, hand clenching against the rose quartz gem at their midsection. Over time they’ve come to realize that maintaining any one of Steven’s shields or abilities for a long period of time is super taxing to them, more so than it is for the young half-Gem himself. Makes one wonder if that’s because they’re a 75% human hybrid, because of the nature of being a fusion, or because they simply haven’t trained enough together.

They moan, frustrated at this whole dumb scenario, desperately wondering if there’s anything they could’ve done differently to avoid it all together. Lars and his friends will find them soon once they follow their trail and do a flyby, hopefully, but there’s still so many variables to consider here. They quickly hop back onto their feet inside the bubble.

Stevonnie squints, for a moment thinking they can see dimmed starlight glinting off of a domed surface in the far distance. Perhaps there’s some Gem technology hidden away here that could prove useful. For now, all they can do is explore and wait.

Ch. 3

The dome encapsulates a gigantic garden. At least, what they can only guess was once a garden. All the plants have long since shriveled up into husks of their former glory, much like the hollowed-out moon hanging high above. There’s a single service doorway on the dome’s exterior, a feature Stevonnie is exceedingly lucky to have found before finally fading to exhaustion with their bubbling ability. Now freely wandering around the dome's interior, they approach a massive platform towards its center. Eyes glittering, they brush their hand against some eroded etchings in the old stone. They’re sure it used to be quite a sight to behold in its heyday, this whole complex. Such a shame time had to carry this place to eternal rest. What used to go on here, they wonder? What kinds of Gems would use this space? Did they all leave when the colony above was... fully drained of its resources?

Their nose crinkles just thinking about it.

Hey, they muse suddenly. Up at the top... I think that’s a warp pad.

Are you sure?

Pretty positive.

“Couldn’t hurt to look,” they mutter softly, climbing up the stairs. Their legs are still burning from the long walk they set upon to reach the dome in the first place.

When they reach the top they kneel in front of the warp, and place a palm flat upon it. They close their eyes, focusing their mind on the tangled web of warp stream signatures old users have left behind, almost like a fossilized travel record. Except it’s energy based. Well, kinda. They’re sure it’s far more complicated than that, but to be fair Steven wasn’t paying full attention to Pearl the day she was teaching him how to do this. His loss, Stevonnie thinks with a snort. They think all this Gem history stuff is pretty fascinating.

The web comes into focus in their mind’s eye, one particularly bright thread stretching further across the stars than any warp pad they’ve ever seen before can.

“Galaxy warp,” they breathe in giddy realization. “This is an actual, working galaxy warp! But- no!” they cry, grinding their hands into fists. “That means we can’t use it, because Earth doesn’t have an operationa—“

“Pink, is that finally you??” a high pitched voice cries in joy from the distance.

They whirl around in a flash, scanning the interior of the (perhaps not so?) extinct garden. The complex is massive, but it’s not long before they locate the origin of this new voice, trapped amongst the browned and hardened brambles.

Standing midway between the raised galaxy warp platform and the stagnant fountain at the center of the dome is a short pink Gem.

From this distance, they’d have to guess she’s maybe half their height, perhaps a little taller. Her gemstone is on her chest, a heart shaped type they don’t recognize. The Gem’s hair is pulled up into messy little buns, twisted to look like hearts themselves. She stands with her arms open wide, baggy eyes alight with anticipation as she waits for their response.

Mouth agape, Stevonnie skitters down the steps of the platform as fast as they can. Who is this Gem? Why is she alone in a withered garden, in the middle of deep space? And why are her feet literally bound by roots?? How long has she been standing here?

“Oh! Oh, hello! I, uh- I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for, sorry,” they say with an apologetic smile. “I’m Stevonnie. If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here all on your own?”

“I’m playing a game,” the small Gem replies simply, clasping her gloved hands together.

“A... game?”

“With my best friend, yes!” she enthuses. “She’ll come back any day now, I can just feel it.”

Her voice sounds chipper enough, but perhaps as a result of Connie’s lonely childhood and the walls a person learns to erect in those situations, Stevonnie can intimately sense the cracks in her facade. They may not yet understand the full scoop, but they can tell she's desperately trying to convince herself of her own cover story.

What on Earth happened to this Gem, here in this forgotten garden?

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 127

March came too soon. “Vacation” was over before you knew it, and you honestly weren’t sure if you were all balanced. But that didn’t really matter. The world was not going to wait. On the 7th you were scheduled to be Talbot’s personal puppy as he addressed the United Nations. On the 12th you had a keynote speech about Stark Industries’ release of the Intellicrops project at the NYC Tech Convention. And before that… 

On the 3rd and 5th, you were now reading, sitting at your office desk, the Avengers had planned raids on two suspected Hydra bases. They’d gone on one without you, at the very end of February. You already sensed the team hadn’t been happy with your decision to step away and keep away while they went out. Guilt was heavy enough, but really it was the disappointment you’d pretended not to notice as you took hold of your briefing folder on your first day back to work. 

While Tony and Bruce had had some other pressing projects to wrap up before they could start sweeping for the scepter, they couldn’t put it off forever. And, really, they shouldn’t. The team being mad at you was really nothing compared to what was going on behind the scenes. What Hydra was doing with that weapon, and the hundreds other they’d stolen… you were so inconsequential compared to all that. But. If that were true… 

Then why had you spent half a month at home? You figured that was what everyone was asking themselves. Each other. Tony, even. You didn’t have an answer for them other than your own cowardice and unhealthy state. But even that was probably not enough. 

All of it had to be put aside. It was time to go back to work now. That’s why you put your CEO duties aside that morning to go over the extensive briefing of what you’d missed. Tony had secured some rogue SHIELD properties that were meant to help the team. A few Quinjets that he was making modifications to. There was also some vague mention of a building upstate for housing purposes. You recognized it as an already owned plot of land. Maybe one of Stark Industries’ old facilities? Tony hadn’t detailed it so it must have not been super important. It was being gut renovated right now. 

While Tony and Bruce had thought finding the scepter would be difficult, it apparently had been quite a challenge. Not only were Hydra now scrambling signals, probably in an effort of foresight that eventually what was left of SHIELD or the Avengers would come after that. The scepter, according to the report, already threw out low levels that were difficult to trace, and only when it was active. So all of that culminated in a few hotspots that the team then had to go check out. There was a detailed list and some intel on every base the Avengers were scheduled to go hit. 

Something you supposed you should have read without missing a detail. But something else was bothering your brain. None of these bases were on United States soil. Which… well. That was a problem. Considering your other problem that you were currently facing. 

In your extended downtime, a report had also come in from Ellis. Not too long ago. You wondered if this Enhanced Ambassadorship was all for show. He seemed not to care too much about it. Pulling you on so soon without a moment’s notice… basically telling you you had no say- and that all you had to do was sit by a general while he talked above you… none of it felt good. But what more could you do?

“LUNA, open a secure line with President Ellis.” Opening up one of the holo-windows on your desk so you could start a conference. The Avengers had already hit one base in somebody else’s country. You needed to deal with this now. 

He left you on hold longer than you would have liked. But eventually his face popped up on the link and he looked nothing short of disgruntled. “This better not be about the conference next week.” Apparently so sure you were just unhappy enough to start finding your way out of things.

The truth was, of course, you were. But he must have had no sense of your loyalty for your family, if he really thought you’d start reneging now. “No. It’s about something a little more pressing.” 

“You have ten minutes.” 

“It’s... slightly related.” Admitting this, trying to ease yourself. Regain the control you used to feel in situations like this. So suddenly it had all started slipping away. When he bristled you attempted a smile. “SHIELD left a lot more mess behind than you’re aware of. Hydra made off with a lot of sensitive material.” 

This put a silence into him. A cold one of consideration. He sat forward at his desk. “How sensitive? Are we talking about-”

“Weapons. Yes, sir.” 

“...what kind of weapons?” 

“Extremely dangerous ones.” Trying to just toe the line here. Right now he didn’t exactly need to know, and you kind of wanted to test the waters on his trust of you. 

He regarded you for a long moment. “...and what do you want me to do about it?” 

“The Avengers are taking care of it.” Sitting a bit straighter in your seat, clasping your hands together lightly. 

Realization sparked in his eyes. “On foreign soil.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You want me to authorize your people to invade countries to get this weaponry back. That’s what you called me for?” Getting just a touch angry. Probably because this was a little too coincidental, what with the meeting with the United Nations seven days away… 

“I don’t need you to authorize The Avengers to do anything. We’re going. Hydra stole United States property. The Avengers, who operate for the good of all humanity, but just happen to do so in the United States, are going to find them, apprehend them, and get it back. And I’m sure any country Hydra is found hiding inside of, with this dangerous stolen property, would be quick to denounce them. Don’t you think?” Finding your toughness and strength still holding steady after your little meltdown. Thank god. 

If you couldn’t do this what could you do? 

You shared a long gaze with the President as he considered all this. If the Avengers got caught doing this, it could have huge repercussions, of course. Foreign countries might not like that enhanced individuals were using powers on their property. But not on their citizens. On Hydra. So the both of you had to come to an agreement, now, that if your team was found out doing this that you were both sure you could talk down a country from war in only the face of bad press of not wanting to be associated with Hydra. And not wanting to look like an enemy of the Avengers. 

The ones who saved not just New York from aliens, but the world. Those ones. You were sure the team had enough good press still behind it. It had been a few years, but it was still pretty fresh. 

But Ellis had to agree on that, too. Right now. 

And, thankfully, “...I appreciate you telling me about this. I figure you could have operated in the dark.” 

It wasn’t worth telling him that the team had already gone on one mission, and had you decided the President of the United States wasn’t worth informing just this morning, nobody would have. He didn’t need to know any of that. You gave him a nod. “I’m going over the UN stuff now. I’ll be on my best behavior while I’m there.” 

“...they don’t need to know about any of what you’re doing. Nobody does right now.” Staring you down. Apprehension was easy to sense, even from so far away. Easily read on his face. “Do we understand each other?” 

Basically telling you: Don’t get caught. 

“Understood, sir.” 

                                                     ---

One terrible meeting out of the way for the day, you figured you should put your attentions into actual business things. That served you well, meetings and conferences and emails until about two PM. At that time you found yourself in the private lounge with your team (nicer than a small conference room for sure), as everyone took a seat on whatever couch was nearest them and pretended to go over their briefings while paying more attention to what had been stocked for lunch. 

It was strange, the isolation you felt. You also hoped it wasn’t on purpose. Even Tony had cozied up in a different corner of the room, perhaps absent-minded to you sitting by your lonesome as he chattered with Bruce about who knew what. But maybe you were part of the problem, too stuck in your head to notice anyone trying to pay attention to you. 

Steve took a seat beside you, startling you pretty hard. “Hey- sorry. I didn’t mean to-” 

“It’s okay.” Assuring him quickly. 

He regarded you for an uncomfortable amount of time. “You alright? You seem pretty lost.”

“I just have a lot on my mind.” Easy to say as he could never comprehend just how much at this point. 

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual right about now.” 

“Listen up everyone.” Maria called everyone’s attention. Which was good. You weren’t sure how to respond to Steve. Whether to maybe find gratitude in the sameness of being overwhelmed or to feel annoyed that he was trying to compare notes. “If the raids in the next few days don’t prove successful, we’ll continue to our next two hotspots in the same on-off calendar days. According to Banner and Stark we just got a few more hits come in, so we need everyone to be prepared.” 

That would, of course, mean that the team was planning a strike on the 7th of March. And. Well… 

You stood. “I have an announcement.” Drawing all eyes your way as you moved closer to that focal point she was standing in. She stepped aside, crossing her arms. Nervousness and agitation both gripped the room. “President Ellis has basically ordered me to take the position of the United States’ Enhanced Forces Ambassador.” Already the room erupted in heated voices. “Alright- one at a time-” 

Clint was the first wise one to figure out a spot, raising his hand. So when you pointed his way, “That sounds very made up.” 

“It is.” Dry as you answered. “But the President made it up. So I don’t really have a choice.” 

Natasha half raised a hand. “Let’s say you did have a choice.” Asking what the alternatives were that had been presented to you. Trying to get all the information on this situation. As always. 

“I don’t.” Firm about this. “But if I had said no there was pretty much a threat that the President might think about disavowing us to the United Nations. Which is particularly important, considering we’re all about border crossing these days. Don’t you agree?” Not asking her specifically, sweeping a gaze around the room. 

Steve was the next one to speak. “And you have to report to him directly about all our activity now?” 

“No. That wasn’t part of the deal.” It wasn’t, so it didn’t matter if you already had done that earlier that morning.

Maria regarded you. “So what was part of the deal?” The accusatory nature of this really rubbed you the wrong way. 

You had to steady yourself to not get angry. But it wasn’t your voice that spread across the room. It was Tony’s. He spoke calmly but pointedly as he made his way slowly over to you, “The deal was she sits on a council with no authority and basically princess-waves to the United Nations to make them feel better so that we all get to stay in business. And it was either that or jail time for everyone in this room when a foreign country remembers what the word terrorist means the next time one of us gets caught on camera on their soil.” He was by your side as he let a small silence weight what he said next. “Anyone got a problem with that?” 

Steve’s eyes were down when he was the first to speak after all that. “Is that where you’ve been since last month?” 

It was hard to know what vexed him so much about your disappearance. Maybe it was that you’d chosen politics over getting, what the team considered, work done? “I really was just taking a break.” 

Thor shuffled his shoulders. “Well the time for breaks is over. The longer the scepter is in Hydra hands the more danger it poses to your planet.” 

Their disappointment in you was easily felt. Like a fresh slap. “I know. And I’m committed to getting it back. But I can’t go on the 7th. I have a meeting with the United Nations then.” 

Yet again, a flare of upset from Steve brought your eyes his way just as he opened his mouth. “Were you even gonna tell us that if we hadn’t planned for a raid then?” 

You had to clamp down. Extremely hard. Showing nothing but a meager amount of disgust as your brows knit together. “Of course I was.” How could he even ask you something like that? “But I guess since the dates got ahead of me, you’ll just have to trust that I would have.” Meeting his eyes, not glaring, just… openly regarding him. 

He was the first one to break, head dropping in a nod. “I trust you.” But there was a sore sense of guilt here that filled you almost to the brim. 

...he really didn’t trust you anymore? 

“Good.” Just a little defensively, unable to help yourself. But the way everyone in the room was staring at you… you crossed your arms, holding to yourself. “Look- guys- I don’t know what changed. We’re a team, you know? A family. I don’t like walking on eggshells around you. I’m not hiding anything. I’m trying to do what’s best for the team. Always. And if over the past few months that stopped becoming clear, then I’d like to talk about it. Because we can’t carry on this way.” Almost short of pleading with everyone in that room. “We fought aliens. I know this other stuff has been tough, but we’re tougher.” 

You couldn’t start falling to pieces over every little thing. You needed them to be with you. To come together. It couldn’t go on like this. 

It would have been entirely too much to sit in silence after going off like that, so you were intensely grateful when Natasha aimed a smile up your way. “I’ve never questioned your judgment. I’m pretty sure nobody in this room has. But. Let nobody feel free to correct me.” Her levity eased the tension pulling the room taught. 

Bruce’s voice held just a note of timid as he fumbled with his glasses in his hands. “I know SHIELD brought us in with folders and… some even with thinly veiled threats…” There was a wry smile, aimed Natasha’s way- one she reciprocated, even. Interesting. “-but. I don’t know of anyone else after the fact that put more care into what we are now. Or more work.” 

Tony held up a finger. “I’d like to request we pair the amount of work going in as a Team Stark venture.” A humorous round of boo’s hissed around the room and Clint even chucked a throw pillow Tony’s way. He scoffed. “Alright. Message received. Don’t ask me for more suit upgrades.” 

The air in the room was much warmer than when you’d sat down, and it was very nice. One less thing to worry about. Murmurs of approval seemed to be going around. While it would have been nice to hope this was the last semi-scuffle all of you got into, you doubted it. But… teams fought, right? That was normal. As long as you could just be the big adult and talk things through with them… hopefully that would be enough every time. 

                                                    ---

It was absolutely too much to ask that either mission would be the one that ended things. Too much to ask that on either of those two missions you actually found the scepter and the stolen Chitauri parts and called it a day. Too much. Neither mission ended in a critical success. But there was at least one silver lining to both. 

Getting to know how your team operated in close quarters was really a blessing in disguise. They’d found their stride on the first mission it seemed. Were able to bounce off one another with no problem, communicate with no problem. It was easy fitting into a world with this compact team. 

Before every send off, Tony and Steve would go over key details. Tony would usually brandish his knowledge about and pull bunker info and relevant entry points. And then Steve would direct the entire team where they needed to be. Once out on the battlefield things were hectic and not everything went to plan. Hydra was more than well enough equipped to try and defend themselves.

Which was telling enough. They were supposed to be a dead faction, most captured and being tried for their crimes. Yet this organization hosted multitudes of soldiers and weaponry that- while couldn’t stand up to the might of the Avengers- did a damn good job of at least defending their base for more than thirty minutes at a time. 

You learned that Bruce had been held back in the jet, agreed upon by all parties. Unless a “Code Green” went into effect. Which would mean Hulk was a necessary player on the field. On the second mission this got utilized, when a few tanks rolled up on the ground team and you and Tony were busy trying to take down a bunker shield. By the time you’d gotten back with empty hands to show for it, Natasha had ventured off to try and quell the Hulk’s anger and turn the tide. 

They had prepped- already- for what life looked like in your absence. Maybe it was for the best. You weren’t always available. You wouldn’t always be around to try and calm Hulk down. Even if you were in battle with them, there was no guaranteeing your being up to it. This was good, you told yourself. That they had all these second options. That Steve and Tony led the charge in your single absence so much so that when you sat back the next two times it just felt like… normal. 

...maybe it was good, you continued to tell yourself on the next flight back on the Quinjet. Maybe… maybe it meant that eventually they wouldn’t need you anymore in this capacity. ...hopefully they’d let go of Tony, too. Maybe. Someday. ...someday you could step away and feel good about it. Even in Ultron’s absence, although that would have helped immensely. Maybe one day… retirement wouldn’t seem so far fetched. 

                                                    ---

The morning of the 7th you saw the team off on the flight deck just before sunrise. Tony was the second to last to load in. There seemed to be no more hard feelings about you missing a raid, which was good. Because you literally could not miss this meeting. With a small pat to his chest and a kiss to his cheek, “Please find the thing.” 

His grin was weak at best. “No one wants to find the thing more than I do.” Putting an arm around you, he pulled you close for a tight half hug. “Besides, I want all the glory of bringing it home. Obviously.” 

Thor passed you both and clapped Tony so hard on the shoulder it bounced you back a little. “We can discuss glories after we’ve secured the scepter.” Boots falling hard on the up-ramp, though he seemed in a good mood despite his antics. 

Tony sighed and gave you a small shrug. “Duty calls. Dinner later?” 

“If I get through this meeting in one piece.” 

“You’ll do great.” Hands rubbing up and down your arms a few times over as if he could soothe away all your jitters. He left you with a too-short goodbye kiss. And then you watched, holding yourself still as the jet pulled up and into the sky. Your team aboard. While you… 

You had to stay behind. And get ready in a sharp suit and a clear mental state. Because this meeting wasn’t going to be easy. Even if you were expected to talk as little as possible. Media were parked out front, as always. You made sure to clip on your absolutely ridiculous EFA badge to your jacket as you stepped out onto the sidewalk of the United Nations Headquarters. Head up, ignoring the press crying your name. 

Really, it could have been a normal day. On the docket was a greeting lunch, where all these representatives like to lounge around lavishly. Eat things that were way too expensive, and no doubt gossip. You were no stranger to these environments. Really, if left alone, you probably could have excelled here far more than you would have liked. 

But as you stepped into the private lunchroom after checking in, Talbot was the first to greet you. “Good to see you, ma’am.” He seemed agreeable and in good spirits. Probably a good thing. 

“And you, sir.” Unfortunately, now that he was at your side… the swallowing of pride had to begin. “Where would you like me?” 

“Well, just between you and I, the cool kids have a table I like to sit at.” Grinning, but you weren’t actually sure if he was making a joke or not. 

You tried very hard not to visibly scrutinize him. “You have a speech prepared for later? Or are you more of an off-the-cuff kind of man?” 

He cleared his throat, adjusting his coat with all his wondrous battle-won splendors dangling upon it. “A little of both. Don’t worry. I don’t need you to speak.” 

“That’s never been clearer.” Allowing yourself a minimal amount of sass. Otherwise you might explode. 

Luckily, he seemed to let it slide. Though his slight flair of annoyance clued you in to the fact that that was probably the only one you’d get. “Come on. A lot of people want to meet you.” 

“Lucky me.” Okay. Maybe two. 

Talbot was right, though. There was a strange mix in the air, as eyes followed you around the room. Definitely at least in your favor, as most of the electricity you sensed in the air was excitement- though there were slight parts anxiousness as well. You supposed that couldn’t be helped. Until you personally made the rounds to each table and explained why you were here- it might have appeared as though an Avenger was escorting a general around the United Nations. Kind of sloppy optics but…

You hadn’t been asked for your opinion on this event or how to host it. So that’s how things went. Once you shook enough hands and people started playing the telephone game on their own, the air definitely shifted a bit more comfortably. Though you bought food and sat at the cool kid’s table, you picked at it, kind of slightly overwhelmed with a little too much. There were too many people here feeling too many things in this large yet enclosed space.

And despite the situation needing your immediate attention, your thoughts were with Tony. With the team. They’d reacted negatively at first to the thought of you being here, but you wanted to be anywhere else. A thought that had never struck you so hard until Talbot nudged you to get up because brunch time was over. Enough people had sipped at mimosas for long enough to be pliable for what was likely a boring speech. 

So now it was time to stand at General Talbot’s side while he waxed poetic about this and that. The room that they conferenced everyone into wasn’t quite as grand as the big hall. But there were still a lot of faces sitting around that long oval table, all looking up at the both of you. He stood at his podium and you simply held your hands together and did your best to tune in. Not just to him but to the feeling of the room. 

While this venture was his- was Ellis’- and therefore the United States- they’d also made it yours. And while you weren’t supposed to speak or do anything but smile your prettiest smile and agree with whatever came out of that man’s mouth, it was very important for you to know how he was holding the attention of the room. How they felt about all of this. Sure, this wasn’t what they’d hired you for. It wasn’t something they even knew. But… eventually you’d be able to use it to your benefit. Eventually you’d be able to turn this position into more than just a woman standing at a man’s side like an ornament. And that started with you feeling out the room and figuring out exactly who was on your side and who wasn’t yet. 

Talbot was talking about togetherness and unity. All buzzwords you were sure the United Nations representatives heard a lot of. Talking about his credentials. What he knew, what he was sure of. That everyone in that room wanted to protect their people. Wanted peace. In fact, the people in that room as you honed in on them were kind of… bored. This was probably a speech they’d heard a thousand times before. 

It was why you had to give props to Talbot when he reclaimed their attention with a lightning strike that buzzed around the room. “I was here in 2012. When the sky tore open, and the Chitauri rained down on us. Aliens.” The feeling in the room was absolutely aglow as all eyes turned not to him, but to you. It was much easier to sync with people who were feeding into you so intensely without their knowing. Talbot continued, “Aliens were running through the streets. 

And it was then that SHIELD revealed themselves and stood with the Avengers. Leading us to believe that we could put our faith in them. Which we did.” A slight wave of suspicion fell over more than a few members in the room. You tried to hold yourself steady, really wishing you’d been able to look at this speech before he started. “We stood idly by while they collected super-powered individuals- those we are lucky to now call allies- one of which I’m very lucky to have standing by my side today. But that does not erase the fact that they sought out these uniquely advantaged- enhanced people without anyone else’s knowledge. 

SHIELD also garnered alien weapons, they built bases on virtually every continent. We thought SHIELD was protecting us. But in truth… they took advantage of our good faith. They still are. I know this because I’ve fought with them, long after their supposed fall. We know, in fact,” nodding to you- drawing all eyes your way, “that they’re still operating. And that they still have messes yet to be cleaned up.” 

You opened your mouth- sure, your job was to sit here and let him talk shit about SHIELD. That was fine. Well. Great, even. SHIELD did terrible things that you still didn’t agree with. That you wouldn’t ever. But you couldn’t let him rope you into this. You couldn’t let him speak for you so personally. 

However, you were usurped by Italy’s representative, Adamo Dioli, taking a stand, putting his hands on the table. You’d shared less than five words with him over brunch, but he seemed smart enough. “Italy takes note of your report, General.” You honed in on him, curious as to what he was trying to get at. “Now you say that you’ve seen SHIELD- that you’ve even fought against them. But… where is the proof?” 

If this were any other meeting, you would have sided with Dioli immediately. You desperately wanted to know what Talbot knew about SHIELD in the aftermath. He seemed pretty sure of himself. But the mood in the room shifted before either Talbot or Dioli could start fighting with one another. The door in the corner of the room whipped open, bringing with it a storm. 

Before you saw anyone- you saw a weapon- flung across the room and straight into Dioli’s chest. It was like you were looking through him. Locked on to him as he started to scream for help. Panic erupted. He reached out- and stupidly you held a hand up- just in time for him to start disintegrating into a dark pile of ash. Right in front of you. Right in front of you. Yet it seemed like a second pair of eyes was staring out from the ones falling to dark pieces- pleading- just as his entire body broke down into a heap of smolders on the floor. 

Terror was a hot flash across your consciousness as heavily armed men entered the room, guns brandished. More than one person flung the accusation, “IT’S SHIELD!” 

You just didn’t have enough time. Ripping the front of your blouse open to expose the Heart Reactor on your chest, you tapped once to draw out, leading the nanobots on a clear path down your arm. And then you held up for a quick repulsor blast at one of the men that nearly knocked you off your feet without the aid of the entire suit to stabilize you. It rocked your arm up and around after. And then the gunfire started. 

You swooped down into a dive to drag another representative out of the way of fire- just as another one of those weapons were tossed at one of the security guards in the room. He, too, cried out in fear and pain and then just fell apart into ash. But- focused on him- you had enough time to tap again and suit up fully. Helmet on, “LUNA I need you to figure out what those weapons are NOW.” Stressed as more than a hundred different threads of white-hot panic were raining over you. 

“We’ve got no database on them, ma’am- and I’m not sure the suit will protect you- so please-” 

“Don’t get hit. Got it.” Easier said than done. You were lucky enough to draw regular gunfire as you took off out of your spot with an extra boost of jets to ram the armed man closest to you into- and then through a wall. Then you rocked back with another burst to re-enter the room. Just in enough time to see the seeming man-in-charge of this operation lob one of those weapons Talbot’s way- 

“LUNA lock and engage!” Holding a hand up to get a steady trajectory lock so that you could blast it out of the air. Jumped up and over the table, towards him where he was just at the exit at the back of the room. “Go. Now.” Shielding him from further fire. 

The head goon jumped on the table with an almost too-on-the-nose declaration, “SHIELD is done hiding!” 

Pushing another representative out of the way of a hail of bullets, taking on the damage, you then almost seriously chucked them out of the door. “Go!” Then in a clean backflip to put you right on the other end of the table, “You know, last time I heard that, it came right before someone telling me they were actually Hydra. Now you wouldn't happen to be lying would you? I’d be very disappointed.” 

He smirked. “Lady Iron. Join me, won’t you? We’re allies.” 

You decided to push your luck. “What level were you before SHIELD fell into the water?” 

“Eight.” 

“What floor number was Fury’s office actually on in the Triskellion?” 

A spark of anger lit up between the two of you and he gnashed his teeth behind his closed lips. “Screw this.” Flinging his arm forward to lob one of those disintegration weapons your way. You had barely enough time to drop in a slide to your knees, pulling one leg up on the rise to gain momentum in an uppercut. He lifted off his feet but just as he came back down you kicked in his chest, sending him flying towards the back of the room. 

But as you lifted again to try and gain on him, his buddies came in hot and heavy with more gunfire and you had to draw up a shield. One you rammed into despite a heavy warning flaring to life on your screen, so that you could boost into a sweeping kick to get a few more men bowled over. Keeping in with momentum after dropping your shield, you swung your elbow into the stomach of one and reached behind you to grab the shoulders of another just as he tried to reach for you, throwing him across the room. They were a small group, you could dominate them-

 But in the middle of a smaller hail of bullets, LUNA put a target on your screen- one that was about a foot away from your open side- “Ma’am-!” 

It was weird, to be thanking the powers that be that someone had fired a rocket launcher on you instead of one of those weird instant-killing weapons. But that’s basically what you did as you went flying out of the window, consciousness waning as your head rattled around, falling several stories into one of the back gardens in a painful heap. You were lucky, that cries of “Fall back! SHIELD fall back!” were crackling through the airwaves, making it past your ringing ears. Giving you a little permission to just… drift.

They weren’t here to kill everyone. They’d been here to make a point. 

You drew up on your hands and knees, pulling the helmet off as you struggled for air, coughing up blood on your hands and knees.. Now that you weren’t in immediate danger, you felt like you were drowning in the wake of everyone else’s terror. Yet the world felt weirdly empty. Like there was a hole in your chest. 

You’d been staring right at Dioli- You’d been trying to sense him- And he’d died right in the middle of it. 

His eyes. You couldn’t stop seeing his eyes. 

 When you found the strength, you put the helmet back on, and took the short way up, lifting on uneasy jet boosts back up to the room you’d been blasted out of. Empty. Everyone had fled. “LUNA, can you find some people for me...” Hopefully the entire building had been evacuated. Dizziness was looping around in a knot centered at the back of your head.

 “The building is 90% empty, ma’am. We have one group huddled in the lower deck stairwell.” Taking shelter, no doubt.

 So you redirected towards there and instead of using the jets to just plow down through the center, you deactivated your suit, and instead made the walk. It was almost of no surprise when you found them huddled together, Talbot in front of them, wounded, and one of the pretend-SHIELD men dead on the steps just below. He looked up at you on your approach. “Is the building secure? I lost comms.” No doubt why he was hiding. These men could have been lined up on the lawn ready to execute anyone who left the entire building for all he knew.

 You gave a weary nod. “We’re clear.” Reaching your hand to offer him help up. He ignored you, maybe more of a pride thing than anything else. And you just didn’t have enough energy to care. Instead you focused your efforts on helping up the representatives that had taken shelter with him, listening to their tearful murmurs of gratitude as they went in one ear and out the other.

 You and Talbot brought everyone out around back to one of the gardens, while everyone else in the building started pouring back in. Statements were being taken. People were being helped. It must have been an hour before a medteam even got to you. You were just trying to hold on. You couldn’t hear a word they were saying as they tried to push and prod you- to get you to do anything- 

Talbot’s hand was on your shoulder- But it was the rumble of the Quinjet roaring closer and then dropping to land that really stilled everyone. 

Predictably, Tony was the first one out. Sense returned as his familiar waves brought you back. “Mission didn’t go well?” Trying to pretend this looked like less than it was. 

“What happened?” 

Talbot stood straighter, “She did her job.” As you looked up at him, you realized he was slightly banged up, arm in a sling. “Where were your people?” 

Tony’s anger was easy to spot. “My people? Seems like one of them was right here. And you’re-” 

“Sir.” Steve, in his full Captain America gear, was trotting up to the scene. “Let me take over.” 

Talbot extended a hand. “Captain.” Attention successfully diverted. But, as Tony helped you to your feet, he redirected one last time, holding his remaining arm out. You regarded the gesture and then met his gaze. “You did good.” 

“That wasn’t SHIELD.” All you could think to do in the moment. 

When he realized you were ignoring him otherwise, he glowered, and let his hand drop. But, to your surprise, he agreed. “I don’t think it was, either.” It was nice to have an understanding with this man. 

At least for as long as it lasted before Tony turned you away. “Let’s get you home.” 

Talbot seemed like he didn’t want to let you leave. “She should see a medic.” 

“We have medics in-house.” And Tony wanted you anywhere but here. Just at the landing stairs, Tony half turned. “Cap.” Calling his attention. “You staying?” 

Steve nodded. “For the time being.” 

With that he helped you up and into the jet where the rest of the team were still buckled in their seats. Bruce was sitting at one of the consoles. “...eventful day?” Turning as you and Tony sat down closest to him. 

You tried on your best smile for him. “More than yours, it seems.” 

Natasha spoke from the front seat as she ignited the engines. “Big bust in Turkmenistan. But word on the street is SHIELD just kicked in the UN’s doors and declared war. So that’s something.” 

Clint flipped a few switches next to her, co-piloting. “It’s always something.” 

A defeated and painful laugh escaped you. “Who are you telling?” Tony was just watching you. Clearly not in the mood for amusement. It killed yours, and you hung your head.

 It was never not something, at this point. 

Never. 

[universally-the-same]

The link between perfectionism and escapism

Another benefit to therapy is that it’s allowed me to start connecting the dots to behavior patterns in my life. After making these realizations, I’m seeing how important it is to look for and recognize these patterns. If you want to make a change in your life, or better understand why it is that you do what you do, look for the patterns. There’s so much more to their story that what you see up front.

Perfectionism I’ve always admitted to being a perfectionist, but never really considered how extensively that theme played out in my life. It’s not just perfectionism in tasks, or the “all or nothing” tendency that I have when I start a new diet, or start working out. It’s more expansive and all encompassing than that. Katie used the word hyper-focus which sums it up perfectly. My fourteen year-old-self would have used the word obsessive, but I like the word hyper-focus better. I feel like it removes any preconceived negative notions that comes along with this level of perfectionism.

Throughout my life there has always been something that I’m hyper-focused on. Mostly the object of my focus has been something that has benefited me positively on some level, though thinking back there were times where I became hyper-focused on my woes as well.

I think back to my idolization of Dolly Parton and Jean Smart, and my obsessive friendship with Jean’s publicist. I think back to the guy I was fixated on at the mall and how my BFF and I would go and spend hours every Friday night hanging out in the music section of Sears so that I could be the object of his attention. These are just a few of the examples off the top of my head that consumed me for years growing up.

When I would allow myself to feel into my reality, I would blare my music and feel every lyric and every note of every song. I would relate to the music, and allow it to engulf me in sadness. It was this crazy extreme of feeling alone, yet knowing that I wasn’t because someone else could articulate what I was feeling.

This, however led to a summer where I became fixated on poetry. I poured my heart and my tears onto paper as I expressed my feelings in a rhythmic fashion. In one summer I wrote close to 80 poems.

As I grew older, country line-dancing became my obsession and 6 nights out of the week you would find me on the dance floor; a social butterfly feeling into the music once again; but this time allowing it to engulf me in joy.

When I met my husband, I threw myself into our relationship and lost sight of everything else. Many years into our marriage, when I began to acknowledge that I had lost a part of myself I went back to school. Not only in hopes of finding a better job, but because I believed that it would help fill that hole. It did, because I became obsessed with school. I graduated top of my class.

When I wasn’t throwing myself into my schoolwork, I was throwing myself into my work-work and winning awards for top sales there. But once I finished my Associates and Bachelor’s degrees, I had nothing to fixate on, work was miserable, and once again that void in my soul made it’s presence known.

It was during this time that I decided to finally listen to the voice in my head that had been suggesting therapy. Through therapy I found meditation, which allowed me to reconnect with my soul and I reconnected with my spirituality again.

I was able to start learning how to control my anxiety though meditation and mindfulness, and also by releasing some of my perfectionist tendencies. I began realizing that it didn’t matter what other people thought, it only mattered what I thought. This earth-shattering news allowed me to start loving myself which opened the door for me being able to start trusting myself again.

Five years later, the rabbit hole has gotten deeper and deeper, but I’ve been loving every second of it. Some might say that I’ve become somewhat hyper-focused on this whole process. While I don’t necessarily agree, because I believe that self-work is some of the most important work you could ever do, would that really be such a bad thing? And let’s be honest, it’s never been about being a “bad thing”. My perfectionism was actually a blessing in disguise.

I’m now learning that my hyper focus had been a means of survival for me; a coping mechanism. You see, my hyper focus tendency, I’ve come to learn, is another form of escapism for me. By becoming consumed by the task/object at hand, it has allowed me to not have to focus on other things in my life that may not have been so pleasant, such as my childhood with my mother.

Escapism All of the people/things listed above were all forms of escapism for me. But as I go further, I realize that there were more. My best friend and I played with Barbies until we were 16 growing up. Yes, I feel funny admitting to that, but this is one of the ways that I coped with my reality. The intricate story lines that we would play out allowed me to escape. I could become someone who was beautiful, had the perfect body, was popular, had an amazing singing voice, was confident, had a wonderful boyfriend… these were all things that I didn’t have, and all things that I wanted.

And it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t acknowledge the role that food played into all of this. After the divorce, things were hard. I was living a life of alternating extremes. On one hand, I had my mother’s house that was full of strict rules with severe consequences resulting in physical and mental abuse. On the other hand, my dad was working three jobs to take care of me and afford to send me to private school. This meant that I was often home by myself, unsupervised.

I spent my weeks with my father dreading going back to my mother’s house, and the weeks with my mother were spent wishing I could be at my dad’s house. Food became a source of comfort, escapism and an area of my life that I could control.

Growing up, my earliest “diet mentality” that I was introduced to comes from my father trying to teach me portion control in a deli when I wanted a small bag of chips. I was probably around the age the 7. The deal ended up being that I could get the chips, but the trade off was that I couldn’t eat the whole bag. Now, this isn’t a ridiculous trade-off, and I don’t think that my father did anything wrong. I know that everything was out of concern for me and my well being, as well as trying to prevent me from enduring what he had as an chubby teenager, but it’s also the first time in my life that food became “restrictive” or a “bad thing”.

One of the thought processes behind intuitive eating is that once the “restriction” is removed from the food, the desire and the need to have that food becomes less. That “forbidden item” just becomes… food. And once it becomes “just food” the need to binge on that particular food source lessens because you know you’ll have it again. (Not saying that intuitive eating is a free-for-all, and I as I continue to learn about the process, I will continue to explain more) but I do believe that those “rules” and “restrictions” toward food (along with a cocktail of other mitigating factors) set me up for my life long relationship with it.

Now, back to this idea of finding an area of my life that I could control. As I mentioned, half of my post-divorce life was spent with unreasonable, rigid rules the other half was freedom. In some ways, food became a drug and a means of escapism.

It literally allowed me to escape because I would sneak off to the 7-11 that was several blocks away, or I would sneak off to the little convenience store by one of our favorite breakfast places. There was adventure, and excitement, a thrill in getting the food. And then when I got it, eating it released endorphins that made me feel happy and safe.

In previous posts, I’ve talked about how the only happy memories I have with my mother are surrounding food, and how food also provided me nurture and nourishment. So it served so many purposes, and really.. it did a great job. I had opportunities to try different recreational substances during this period in my life, but thankfully, I never felt the need to escape from these, because I had found my escape from something else.

What this means today After explaining all of that, someone could look at my life today and think… what could she possibly have to escape from now? And it’s true… I’m very grateful for the life I have. Is it perfect? Of course not, but I recognize what I do have and focus on that. I’ve always been a positive person and my optimism also allows me to thrive because I don’t focus on the bad.

But that’s not to say that I don’t have bad days. And when I get sick, or get into a fight with someone, or I’m stressed out at work, or stressed out because a family member is sick, or there’s a ten-thousand dollar home repair that needs to be done on that I have to miraculously make the funds appear for… I mean… the list goes on and on. And let’s be real… it’s normal life stuff. The stuff that each and everyone of us deals with every day.

That’s this stuff that still triggers what has become a subconscious reaction in my body. When there is some level of stress, be it mental, physical, emotional, and I’m sure even spiritual, my body goes into survival mode. It’s what it’s spent the last 32 years doing. And now, I have to somehow retrain that subconscious response.

It’s going to be challenging, for sure. But for the first time in my life, I’ve been gifted with an incredible amount of insight into an area of my life where I’ve been searching for answers for so long. That insight allows for a whole other level of self-awareness. I’m now realizing how deep my relationship with food runs. It’s more than a source of fuel for my body. It’s been a literal means for survival on many levels.

 *this blog post was originally posted on my My Curvy Journey blog on 4/14/2019 and moved to my Universally the Same blog.

[kuro-gossips]

Affections

For @silverynight - Merry Christmas, sweetie! <3 I hope I did them justice, it’s my first time writing anything for Fantastic Beasts.

Five times when Gellert, Theseus, Albus, and Percival show just how besotted they are with the British magizoologist, no matter who the audience is, and once where Newt demonstrates his love for them.

1. Theseus

Newt comes to visit him at his office in the Ministry of Magic on the rare occasion he is in the area. It's been weeks too long since Newt has even set foot in England and Theseus has missed him dearly. Some of the Aurors under his jurisdiction are milling around, filing papers, finishing reports, and discussing active cases.

The opening door disrupts the calm din of the working area and in stumbles none other than his younger brother. Instantly, Theseus is up on his feet, strides over with a sense of urgency, and is hurriedly peppering kisses all over Newt’s charming youthful face, at which he giggles at the ticklish feeling. The other employees of the Ministry attempt to not stare at their boss showering affection on the shorter male. One of the new female Aurors squeaks when the elder Scamander lands a solid one right on Newt’s lips, but is immediately hushed by the others, who remind her that this kind of relationship is common amongst purebloods.

Theseus has no shame and drapes himself all over his curly-haired boyfriend, a content smile sweeping lazily across his features. “I’ve missed you so, so much, Artemis.”

Newt flushes underneath the other’s intense ogling and ducks his gaze out of pure habit. Regardless, his face shows nothing but happiness, his freckles seemingly dancing across his cheeks as his lips curl upwards.

2. Albus

Albus is mid-sentence, teaching a class when a knock on the wooden door reverberates throughout the room. He pauses his lecture, scratching his bearded chin, silently questioning who would interrupt him during class time as he walks over to greet whomever is standing outside. All the students, dressed in the Hogwarts’ robes with their respective house badges emblazoned on their left side, turn to peer at what their professor is doing, necks craning in an effort to see.

“Hullo, Professor Dumbledore.” The male’s tenor voice is soft, but it carries through the space. “I know I’m probably, um, interrupting your lecture, aren’t I? Terribly sorry for that…”

Beyond Dumbledore’s tall and muscular form, the teenagers aren’t able to see much of the mysterious man, but some of them catch glimpses of a mop of curly, reddish hair, a peacock blue peacoat, and a raggedy tan suitcase.

“Ah, Newt!” The sharper students swear their teacher’s eyes shine brighter (had they actually had line of sight of his face) at the other man’s presence. They can taste the sweetness and fondness imbued in the utterance of the younger’s name. He waves off the redhead's concerns and continues, “No trouble whatsoever, Newt. I always have time for you, love.”

That's when the whispering starts when they hear the term of endearment:

Professor Dumbledore has a significant other?

What kind of name is ‘Newt?’

… I would've thought he preferred the fairer sex…

“Oh, well, I could always come back in a bit, you know, once you're done.” Newt stammers out, flushing as if he knows the entire fourth year of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws are staring at him, and maybe he can tell.

“No, no, no, come in, take a seat, the class is almost finished anyway.”

“Well, if you- if you don’t mind then.”

A tall, lanky male with a boyishly charming face is ushered through the entrance and onto a Conjured plush armchair in the back. The adolescents rush to return to normal behaviour and positions, trying to not be obvious that they were eavesdropping on their professor’s conversation, but when Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle furiously, they know they’ve been caught red-handed. Some of their ears are glowing like Muggle Christmas lights at the tips.

The class continues as if nothing has happened, but the wizard lecturing seems to be standing straighter and speaking in a more grandiose manner, like he wants to impress someone. To his credit, there are no further interruptions from the younger blue-eyed man sitting behind the rows of students, a pleasant, albeit lazy, smile gracing his features, but the children themselves cannot stop gossiping. Dumbledore doesn't have it in his heart to dissuade their curiosity, especially in front of his beloved, who holds such a trait above most people. There is the faint buzzing of secrets being traded between individuals and most can't help but glance back to the curly-haired man.

The bell chimes, echoing throughout the school, indicating that it is time to change classes. Newt rises from his seat and approaches the front of the room, stopping in front of the teacher's desk. A couple of students linger as long as possible, but they can feel weak compelling magic being cast, forcing them to leave. Before the doors shut completely, a small group see Albus pulling on the lapels of the vibrant blue coat and sliding his lips over the full ones of the other man, who reciprocates wholeheartedly.

“It really has been too long, since you've visited, Newt.” Even beyond the wooden slabs as barriers, light laughter can be heard down the hallways.

3. Gellert

Gellert has just finished occupying their new hideout in Paris, after excusing the Muggle family from their property (alive and well, thankfully, if Newt were around to say anything). He writes a concise and anonymous note with directions to here, sending it out with a nondescript owl to the magizoologist. His closest associates stare inquisitively at his actions, but don't dare ask. He is not known for using such mundane channels of communication.

Only a couple of hours have passed and to Grindelwald's surprise, there is a familiar pattern of knocking at the house's doors. It's a code that is exclusively shared between Newt and himself. The sound is hushed, just barely enough for the Dark Lord to hear, but the house is utterly silent, so it travels to the ears of his subordinates as well. Vinda appears near the front entrance; however, before she is able to check who is there, her Lord has already invited the person in. To her surprise, it's none other than Newt Scamander because she recognizes the man's face as the one that had been plastered all over the newspapers across North America and Europe.

“My Lord?” Her eyes are wide in disbelief. Grindelwald casually dismisses her with a glance, but she is rooted in her spot. He may have just rolled his eyes.

“Vinda, meet Newt, my beau if you must know.” His mismatched eyes narrow at her, challenging her to voice any undue thoughts she was harbouring. The magizoologist can't help but redden at his words; he can't get used to whenever any of his boyfriends publicly claim him as theirs. Without further ado, he leans down, tenderly cupping the other's heavily freckled cheek, and passionately kisses him. Newt doesn't fight, doesn't try to bite off the platinum blonde's wicked tongue, but instead kisses back.

The French woman cannot excuse herself fast enough.

4. Percival

Percival is in the middle of working a particularly tough case, dealing with some vile witch who enjoys torturing rich, obnoxious No-Maj men and then stringing their bodies up in public places. He can feel a migraine coming on as he analyzes the details presented in the papers strewed across his desk. A memo paper scurries across the oak surface in the form of an origami mouse and he plucks it up to read. The handwriting belongs to MACUSA’s President, Seraphina Picquery, who has requested a meeting for updates on the current investigation with whomever is assigned to it. The team consists of Percival himself, the older Goldstein sister, and another Senior Auror, Fontaine. So as he makes his way to Madam Picquery’s office, Graves takes a short detour to the area where the rest of his department is located to grab the other two.

The Director barges through doors, shocking the workers bustling and chatting around the department space. To his own surprise, he sees a very familiar visage attached to a lean body situated on the couch next to Tina’s desk. Percival needs a moment to compose himself and school his face back to neutral; he doesn’t remember Newt mentioning in any of their correspondences that he would be visiting New York any time soon.

“Mr. Scamander, I didn’t know you were in town.” Graves drawls, a dark eyebrow hinging upwards. The magizoologist shoots up from his seat, clearly not expecting the appearance of his dark-haired lover.

“Oh, um, Mr. G-Graves!” Newt exclaims in a higher pitched voice than his regular tone. It’s obvious the other man is nervous for a reason he cannot fathom. He dismisses the thought because he is required at Picquery’s immediately.

“Goldstein, Fontaine, come. We’ve been summoned.”

“Oh, Mr. Graves, sir, Newt was just here to-” Tina begins, but Percival cuts her off with a glare. The brunette flounders a bit before hurrying to gather her notes about the case and follow after him. “Sorry, Newt, do you mind just waiting here for a bit? I’m sure the meeting won’t take too long.”

They only have Picquery’s attention for a few scant minutes because she is an extremely busy woman, but it’s a series of high profile incidents and she needs to make a strong public presence known. Just as the President is excusing them, she begins speaking again, “Oh, and Percival. I forgot to mention that MACUSA has just extended an offer to Newt Scamander for a consulting position here.”

Percival almost whips around to stare at her declaration, instead he turns around slowly because he is known for nothing if not his complete self-control, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mr. Scamander will be joining you and your team on all cases involving magical beasts in any form. I expect you to make him feel welcomed, am I understood? We require not only his expertise on this subject matter, but it will also alleviate some of the political tension between England and America, following last year’s fiasco with Grindelwald.” Picquery’s tone is stern and leaves no room for arguments, not that Percival really has any complaints about seeing the British man more.

“Understood, Madam Picquery.” He gives her a brief nod and leaves with his subordinates.

When he arrives at Tina and Fontaine’s office space, he marched straight for the curly-haired male, who is awkwardly waiting around, fidgeting with his case. Percival quickly gathers the other in a powerful hug, as everyone in the immediate area resembles a fish out of water with gaping mouths and eyes.

He asks as he pulls back from the embrace, “You little bugger, you. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be working here?”

Tina watches as those dark brown eyes soften and how the weight seemingly lifts off of his shoulders. She has never seen her boss behave this way, but at the same time, if it were anyone to influence it, it would be Newt.

“Er, well, surprise?” Green eyes glint with amusement and his mouth tilts upward in a half smirk.

To further the occupants of the room’s bewilderment, their previously thought unflappable superior swoops in to press his lips against their charming magizoologist’s.

Suddenly, everything makes sense to the elder Goldstein sister and a small smile creeps up onto her face.

5. In Private

It’s one of the rare times that the five of them can actually convene and they intend to make the most of their time together. A quiet weekend away in the isolated region of Grindelwald’s Nurmengard headquarters is exactly what they all needed after such stressful months of work. Gellert, Percival, Theseus, and Albus all arrive earlier than Newt and the latter can barely get his entire body through the front door, before he is being shoved up against the nearest wall and pampered with affection. His suitcase clatters against the ground as Newt's grip slackens.

Grindelwald, who hasn’t seen the youngest in the longest time of the four, immediately occupies his lips, tongue sweeping against Newt’s bottom lip, seeking permission. He is granted access without an ounce of hesitation, a happy moan emitting from their redheaded lover. Theseus is hovering nearby, raking his hand through those wild curls and presses gentle kisses to wherever he can get to. Albus and Percival stand off to the side, but still in close proximity, patiently waiting their turn. As soon as Grindelwald’s stockier build moves out of the way, the Hogwarts professor is carting him off to their bedroom in strong arms. Newt squeaks and lightly protests, but he knows he can’t win in this situation -- he doesn’t want to either, really.

They take turns stripping him of a piece of clothing at a time, slowly, graciously. It’s far from his first time spent with them, but Newt still shys away from their prying eyes and wandering hands. He is self-conscious of the numerous scars and deformities littering his freckled skin. His boyfriends take it in stride, used to this habit, and stretch his limbs out for more of his creamy skin. There are lips and delicate touches from many, many fingers along the ridges of raised skin, the sensation is ticklish and giggles escape his full lips, uncontrollably.

“Newt, you are so beautiful.” Albus mutters, pushing back from his position where he is kissing the other’s shoulder, and gazes lovingly into those expressive green eyes.

Percival follows up with, “We know you are insecure about your body, but rest assured, it makes you even more appealing to us.”

Newt couldn’t be happier as he pulls each of his lover’s down for a peck.

“I love you all.”

“And us, you, liebling.” Grindelwald fondly coos.

+1 Newt

Newt is not good with publicly showing affection, or even in private, if he is being wholly honest with himself. Even if he loves these four goofballs with all his heart, he has trouble expressing himself freely, but they adore him for his quirkiness and accept it with open arms. They’ve done so much for him and he doesn’t know how to begin to repay their kindness.

The five of them have never explicitly discussed family plans, but he remembers them mentioning adopting children in passing. Newt is curious and seeks something more special than a simple adoption -- he wants their first child to be a meaningful step in their relationship. So he conducts plenty of research and finally, he stumbles upon something in the recesses of Grindelwald’s expansive library.

He waits until Christmas, mere weeks away, when they are exchanging presents and gifts them each with an envelope containing a small piece of parchment. They look on in confusion at it, not able to make sense of anything written on it, but he breaks out in an affectionate grin, wide and unyielding.

“It’s a list of ingredients.” All of their gazes turn towards him and he holds their attention completely, eager to hear what he has to say, “It’s ingredients to a potion that will allow me to bear a child.”

The sight before him is comical, to say the least, and Newt lets his laughter rip out of him at these men who are usually perfectly composed.

“What I’m saying is, I want us to have a child or children of our own. The best part of this potion is that it allows us to combine all of our magical signatures to conceive a child. This way, he or she will truly be all of ours-” Before he can finish explaining, he finds himself at the bottom of a dog pile of heavy men. Gellert and Percival are staring at his belly longingly, imagining it swollen with a baby. Theseus can’t stop praising his genius and showering love over his face. Albus has a devious look on his face that says he wants to start trying conceiving as soon as possible and Newt is all too willing.

[beneaththetangles]

Guest Post: Mononoke and a Chance Ungiven

Today’s post is a guest piece from Tyler Burnette, a great supporter of Beneath the Tangles and admin on our Discord server. We’re proud to present this sensitive and spirit-filled take on a topic that has become a battle now more than it has in many years—the unborn child.

-----

Can you recall moments for in which you have wanted a second chance at something? You may have made an easily correctable mistake or perhaps a more significant moral one because your priorities were out of alignment. Everyone has regrets, and God is always willing and able to forgive us of them because of his immense love for us. He does not have a limit on the number of mistakes he can forgive. We are called to be like God, and while we do not have to acquiesce to all demands or become gullible to repeated offenders, we must offer forgiveness and chances at redemption as God has done for us.

However, what about those who are given no chance at all? Have you ever been in a situation where no matter how hard you worked, no one would grant you an opportunity? Perhaps you developed a desire to become a singer as you grew up, but you simply weren’t gifted with the natural talent of a singing voice. Maybe you were discriminated against in a career because of your appearance, associations, or ideology, and were rejected. Thankfully, most of us still have opportunities in life to pursue what is good in the world and to use our talents to benefit others. Unfortunately, there is one group group of people for whom there is no chance given for them ever in life, and their stories are the most tragic of all.

Mononoke is an anime about a medicine man doubling as an exorcist who travels through medieval Japan, offering his goods for sale and resolving mysterious hauntings by finding out the shape, truth, and reason for the them. It is highly stylized and heavily steeped in Japanese mythology and artwork. A majority of its imagery and style appear to come straight out of the Ashikaga period of artwork. Alas, I am not as well versed in medieval Japanese culture or iconography as the show’s creators, so many of the references and choice of language are lost on me.  It has visually pleasing colors and line work, and the characters are well colored and animated. On the flip side, the story, especially for the first two episodes, is anything from pretty.

The first episode begins with a the Medicine Man making his way to an inn soon followed by a woman who is very far along in her pregnancy and clearly in a great deal of distress. The innkeeper, in a scenario not dissimilar to the virgin Mary’s predicament in Bethlehem, is initially turned away due to them having no open rooms in the inn by the front desk clerk. She claims she is being chased down, and she will die if they do not give her shelter. She is even willing sleep on the floor of the inn so long as she does not have to stay outside during the night. The proprietress condescends to her but proposes an idea that she stay in one of their unused storage rooms. Along the way, we notice oddly shaped Japanese baby nesting dolls randomly position throughout the staircase and hallways as well as spirit ward stickers placed upon the walls that the proprietress does not recognize.

Things quickly turn spooky for the young pregnant woman when she arrives in the room and begins to hear voices of children that the desk worker and proprietress cannot hear. During the night, a henchman breaks into the young lady’s room and tells her he has been sent by her lord to kill her baby as it was the result of an affair with master and that he would not be pleased to learn of the child. In medieval Japanese society, as with medieval western society, an illegitimate child could result in inheritance disputes as well as cause shame upon the father and his family. The pregnant woman pleads with the henchman to spare her life as she greatly desires to have the child and care for it. The henchman disregards her plea, but just before he is able to impale her with his sword, he is grasped by an unknown force, hauled into the air, constrained by ribbons of cloth, strangled to death, and dumped back onto the floor. When the proprietress, clerk, and the medicine man come to see what the noise is, they experience the haunting first hand, and the spirits lock them into the room. The medicine man interrogates the proprietress, and we find out that the inn used to be a brothel, and this room they are in is actually the room in which abortions were performed when her girls became pregnant. The room is being haunted by Zashiki Warashi, childlike yokai who are the spiritual remnants of the aborted children. The young woman flees the room in fear, and upon entering another room, she receives a vision of her past showing her and her master beneath the covers. He tells her that he loves her, but she protests claiming she is just a servant. The lord asks her to marry him. Trusting him, she tells her that she is pregnant with his child. This shatters her dream and her vision changes into the man sent to kill her saying, “You don’t care as long as he’s rich right?” This emotionally breaks the young woman, and she collapses crying onto a table.

Every person’s story is unique and specific to them. While I cannot presume to understand or perfectly relate to women who struggle with deciding between birthing a child or having an abortion, many commonalities exist in some circumstances. Like the young woman in Mononoke, there can likely be much shame and regret that plays into decisions to abort a child. The emotional pressures placed on a woman are immense. The father may not be present, and the child may have been conceived in rape or incest, and telling her family could result in significant reprisal or rejection. It certainly takes a village to raise a child, and without that emotional and physical support, abortion becomes an increasingly viable option. We as a society—but also as individuals—must support struggling expectant mothers in any ways we can, even if it means sacrificing some of ourselves so they don’t have to sacrifice their own.

At a point early in the episode, the inn owner voices skepticism at the woman’s capacity as a single mother, commenting that having the baby won’t bring her any money. The financial burden is more significant today than ever before. A study from CNN indicates it costs around $13,000 per year to raise a child. For women considering abortion, this is a significant issue. Support from the government, work, and family may not add up to enough money to meet the costs of living for two people, and the woman might not be able to see a way through. Self-value and self-doubt in one’s own strength and capability, I suspect, is also important in decisions like this. The significance of the decision and the lack of visibly immediate alternatives puts a woman in an unpleasant vice, squeezed by societal expectations and economic hardship. Most often, people listen to the ones who have the most influence or control over them, and woe to those who have nowhere else to go than a person like the proprietress who values money over human life.

In another scene from Mononoke, we then see a vision of the proprietress in her youth as a beautiful lady, but one with minimal compassion for the circumstances of her girls. She informs the Medicine Man of the nature of their abortion room and that the walls with the diamond patterns are effectively a mortuary for the aborted children. She relates the abortions she performed to an act of kindness, a rationalization to ease the anxiety of ending a life. While she tries to frame in this way, in reality it’s simply an excuse to perpetuate her brothel’s business saying that the children are worthless to her and she won’t let them eat as the girls were sold to her to pay a debt. The imagery at this point is rather gruesome, even if only displayed in metaphor, and I would blame no one for not wanting to continue watch. The proprietress begins pulling on a red cord with bloody hands, and a pool of water at her feet turns to red as some of the dolls are shown floating in the pool. My spine shivered a bit next when the owner shreds the cloth she was pulling on as a baby screams, and we then see drops of blood sprinkled over one of the dolls as the red cloth is laid over the doll’s face. The owner makes her way over to the table the young woman is on and makes the pantomime of stabbing the young woman as she screams, “Stop killing babies!” as the room cuts to normal again with the group sitting in the room.

This does not last long as the Zashiki Warashi manifest as a mass of red ribbons which burst from the walls and form a sentient orb. The Medicine Man tries to find the way to vanquish the spirits, but to his surprise, the young girl realizes that they just wanted to be born into the world. All along they just wanted to be given an opportunity at life and with single a word, she accepts them to be birthed spiritually through her with her child. She rips off the spirit ward that had been placed on her stomach, and blood begins to splatter beneath her. The scene cuts away, showing her as the mother of one child but spiritually the mother of the others who had been aborted. A child in the form of a yokai shows appreciation for her love and affection. She admits she cannot physically raise them all, but with her gesture, the spirits are at peace and allow themselves to be dispelled or released by the Medicine Man. It is unclear what future the woman has with her child, but thanks to her compassion, we can presume that she can live her life without the regret or sorrow potentially experienced by the many other women of the proprietress, her child having been given the chance that so many others were denied.

Having a child is a costly decision in life and should absolutely not be endeavored into lightly. Sadly, many women may not have that opportunity or foreknowledge and consider ending the pregnancy through abortion. It is tragic, as contrary to some people’s perceptions, there are absolutely resources available for any woman struggling with costs of raising a child. If one’s family is unwilling to assist with raising a child, local churches and church members, even of a parish one may not attend or share faith with, may be assist in some way if they know about the circumstances. Additionally, adoption is a wonderful option to consider, and there are numerous resources available for it online and in the real world such as the National Council for Adoption, American Adoptions, Lifetime Adoptions, the Department of Health and Human Services, and many other organizations. Adoption and foster care may not be the ideal circumstances for a child in many situations, but abortion is always the worst option from the baby’s perspective. One might recommend an abortion to a woman whose father may not present by the time of birth, is severely impoverished, and may not have family support. However, as an adopted child, myself, from one of these circumstances, I absolutely advocate for adoption and believe abortion is the worst choice for both the mother and the child. It can appear as the easiest solution immediately, but in the long term there can be no joy in the quickest decision that must be wrestled with for the rest of one’s life.

As birth rates decline in our country and babies are seen as more of a burden than a blessing, as less of a baby and more as a bundle of cells, as less of a tot and more of a tumor, the prospects can be very grim, as demonstrated in the first arc of Mononoke. Stigmatizing women who have had or consider abortions is the wrong way to proceed. We must sympathize with them, and we must wholeheartedly and compassionately point them to a God who offers forgiveness and love in all things. If we wish to see abortions or the cited reasons for them eliminated in our world, we need to endure hardships and sacrifice on the behalf of the struggling young mothers to give them a chance so they might in turn bestow a chance at life upon their child.

—

Mononoke can be stream on Tubi.

Tyler Burnette has been anime fan since his youth in the late 90s where he developed an affinity for science fiction shows like Cowboy Bebop, Gundam Wing, and Crest of the Stars shown on platforms such as Toonami, Adult Swim, and Anime Unleashed.  Presently his favorite anime is Trinity Blood as it ties in his interests in politics, anime, and theology. He grew up in a non-denominational church which he still attends regularly and graduated from King College with a degree in Political Science and History with an interest in economics and is an avid strategy gamer.

[mangled-dreams]

Promising Sun: Part 1

Promising Sun: Part 1

A new series I’m working on. Please as it progresses, let me know if you enjoyed it or not. Thank you.

AntiXReader, DarkXReader, 

It’s not often light penetrates your world. You’re blind, so it makes sense you can’t see light. However, even as you can see the physical world you have a second sight.

You see “souls” or rather aura. You brush your hair from your ears, a natural habit. You put on your rose colors glasses to protect your eyes from the sun and you’re ready to go.

You’d long since stopped informing people about your second sight. A lot of people don’t believe you and others try to use you for their own gain. It’s taken a few learning opportunities to narrow down colors and feelings to trust, but you’re wiser now. More informed about the people around you.

“Mr. Apple, I’m leaving. Be a good kitty while I’m gone.” You call unlocking your front door and slip out. Thankfully Mr. Apple is a good cat and doesn’t feel the need to escape your apartment.

“Morning, Rose.” Wilma Vonger greets as you pass by her door. You smile and give a small wave, telling her the same in response. Wilma loves to call you Rose because of the color of your glasses.

You don't mind it. It's better than some of the other nicknames you've gotten over the years. "Good morning, Ms. Vonger. How are your camellias?" You ask pausing to exchange pleasantries. You like Wilma. She's nice and has a very strong, bright, happy purple aura. Bright colored aura no matter the color are good. The darker the color the darker a person's personality, or true self is.

"Oh, they're doing excellent. Thank you for the suggestion." Wilma says happily. It had been your suggestion to grow the camellias, your mother is a florist and had been the one to suggest it to you.

Nodding you tell Wilma you have to get going and bid her goodbye. There isn't a whole lot you can talk with Wilma about, despite liking her. She loves to discuss her flowers and you just... you can't see. You relay information and suggestions from your mother, but side from smelling flowers you have very little interest in them.

"Hey! Rose, going out today?" Mr. Bridgewater asks. You nod your head. Jeffery, or rather Jay, is nice enough, but his colors are dark and you avoid being alone with him. He's never do anything to prove your hesitancy towards him, but best not to tempt fate.

"Yes, Jay, I'll be out for a few. Have a good day." you tell him stepping off the last stair.

You'd learned long ago how to navigate your world without a cane. Instead using echo location and your second sight to help you avoid accident and such. A stranger with a bright orange aura holds the door leading into the mall for you and you thank them softly, entering the building, turning left to the elevator.

You push the call button and wait in silence for the doors to open. Without warning a man appears to your left, his color a dark green that jumps with brilliant lime green colors. You've never seen anything so beautiful and amazing. You want to look at him head on to study his odd yet mesmerizing aura, but you refrain from doing so. Your mother taught you better manner than that.

It's not just the color of his aura that leads you to believe it is a male next to you rather than a female. It's the way his aura settles around him. It swirls around his shoulders and chest, expressing power and confidence. Now, you've seen plenty of women who also share the same characteristics, however with males it seems to swell more in the chest as they associate their power with muscle. Whether they believe they do or not. Women generally value their intelligence.

Now, this is not true for everyone, but just something you'd noticed over the years of being without sight. You try not to lump everyone into the same boat, but it helps to cope with your limited sight. You decided to engage the man, to solidify your assumption.

"Are you going up?" You ask turning enough for the person to know you're talking to him.

"Down." he says. You hear a thick Irish accent in his high pitched tone of voice and nod. You'd been proven correct in your assumption.

You reach forward and touch the call down button as well before resuming your original position. You can feel the man's gaze on you as you shift your weight every now and again. For some reason the elevator is taking a long time to reach your floor.

Frowning you touch the call button and step back.

"How did you know I was here?" the Irishman asks rather gruffly. You don't turn towards him. You debate lying to him but see no point in it.

"I saw your aura. It's very unique." you tell him adjusting your sliding glasses. Within seconds of your explanation the man disappears. You spin around, it's not often someone surprises you, but this... it's just not possible.

When you arrive at your mother's florist shop you'd forgotten about the weird green aura man and his disappearing act. There is little you can actually do for your mother at her shop, other than water the flowers, but she still likes to have you around. It helps with your day to day bills.

“Thank you for coming by.” Your mother practically sings as the over head bell rings in the otherwise silent room. “Sweetheart, are you still sulking?” Your mother asks out of the blue. You've been watching her busy herself around the shop, rearranging her bouquets. You like your mom's aura. Blues and purples swirling together to make her form. There are darker tones that mix in, but nothing that causes high alarm to you.

“I'm not sulking, mom. I'm deep in thought.” You tell her sitting up a little behind the desk. You'd been wondering if your mother had aged as well as your imagined. You'd been nearly twelve when you'd lost your sight. The memories of your childhood, your parents, colors... you keep them dear to your heart.

“What are you thinking about?” Your mom asks you.

You turn your head away from her, outside the windows of the shop you can see auras of people passing by. You wish for nothing more than to see them again. Beautiful, ugly, odd, deformed, perfect, you don't care. If only you could see again.

“Just thinking about what it would be like to see again.” You respond candidly. You already know your mom wished the same. Her blue hues turning dull. Colors that dull, or drain away usually means remorse or regret. You give your mom a half hearted smile.

“Sweetie...” your mother whispers softly.

“It's okay. Short of a miracle or an expensive eye transplant I'm stuck with my limited sight.” You say forcing a short laugh. You'd love to have your sight back, but taking someones eyes doesn't sit well with you. You liked your eyes. You don't have any clue what they look like now, but they're still yours. “I've come to terms with it mom, a long time ago. So, it's fine.” You add lying ever so slightly.

“Swee...”

The bell rings and you both turn to view your customers. You hadn't noticed them approaching the shop, but you are completely sure the green aura man is the same one from the elevator. You smile at him.

“The guy from the elevator!” You shout oddly feeling at peace with the man and his friend. His friend has a similar aura. Reds and pinks of various hues swirling in varying degrees of light and dark shades. They both appear to be warring within themselves, but you don't feel threatened by either of them. At least not currently. You can see they have the ability to become quite violent and merciless if they choose.

“I thought that was you.” The green aura man says. “Do you work here?” You nod at his question.

“Oh, well isn't this exciting.” Your mother says smiling gleefully from you to the strangers and back again. “Did you come searching for my little Sunflower?” she asks walking to your side. You can already see the hope blossoming in her aura. She's hoping you'll finally find a boyfriend. She worries about you being alone, and while it's endearing—in a way, it's also a bit annoying.

“Ma, please. Be briefly met for like two minutes.” You tell her, your pitch rising just a little. It happens when you're embarrassed. Which, when your mother is involved is generally all the time. “I doubt he tracked me down.” You add turning your head to view the two. “I'm sorry, my mom is a bit...eccentric.”  You apologize. You can visually watch the pair shift slightly to look at each other.

“Actually, my friend and I have been looking for you.” Your expression changes at the voice of the red and pink aura man. You've heard that voice before. Actually, now that you really think about it, you know both their voices.

Your brows knit together as you hesitantly ask, “a—are you Mark Fischbach and Sean McLouglin?”

The pair look at each other again. “Y-yes.” The red aura man answers. You can't help your mouth from dropping open a little. You weren't actually expecting that answer.

“Oh, wow....I—ah...I was not expecting that. I don't watch a lot of Youtube, but I've heard your voice before...briefly...” You say feeling a little foolish. You've listened to Mark's videos before. You like the videos where Mark has to talk in the deeper register. His deeper tones soothing too you.

“Oh, well that makes sense.” Mark responds.

Your mother quickly pipes in, “she also blind.” You closer your eyes against your mother's less than tactful way of stating your disability.

“Thanks, mom.” You mutter taking your glasses off and pinch the bridge of your nose before setting them down. You're use to wearing the glasses, but sometimes—when you get a new pair, they tend to give you a bit of a headache. “Yes, that would be another reason I did not recognize you. I am, indeed, blind.” You say opening your eyes. It's not for add effect, simply a habit you have. You still blink and your eyes shift, completely function like they used too, simply you cannot see.

“Oh, well, that makes more sense.” Sean responds. You wonder if this is really the man from earlier. The aura is the same but...his tone...his attitude is off. Up until a few seconds ago he felt a little on edge, now he's... relaxed...

“If you're blind, how did you recognize Sean?” Mark asks sounding genuinely baffled.

“Ah...well, it...”

“Do you have a super sense of smell?” Sean asks. You shake your head.

“No, I told you before. Your aura is very unique. I haven't seen anything like it before. You both have such...amazing auras. They're quite beautiful to watch.” You say losing yourself in the colors and motion. It's soothing and puts you into a state of almost complete complacency.

Sean and Mark exchange looks and you see the shift in their auras. Just a quick flicker of light and dark...You hope you look neutral but you have a doubts about it.

“That's actually quite amazing...” Mark says sounding authentically interested in your explanation. “We're out shopping today, can we...perhaps treat you to lunch?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should trust his offer at face value...

“Sure, why not?”

“I'm working right now. Maybe some other time?”

[wordswithwayman]

Interview w/ Poet Bethany Moore

Recently, I got a chance to interview Bethany Moore about her works of poetry. Bethany is a Denver based poet who recently published two books of poetry. Hope you enjoy this format, and be sure to let us know what you think of it, on Twitter and Facebook @wordswithwayman

1. When did you get your start in poetry and how did you find it? I’ve been writing poetry since I was a really young child, and thankfully I feel I’ve improved in my style and technique over the years! It was one of the ways I entertained myself as an only child, in addition to writing and singing songs and dancing and other theatrics. I’ve always been one of those expressive types. I remember writing little stories in Kindergarten, and later being strongly encouraged by my 5th grade teacher in Southern Maryland of Hollywood Elementary School, Ms. Betty Brady, to pursue seriously writing poetry. As a teacher and member of the community, she was a great leader for literary programs like poetry festivals in our school. I was so impacted by her encouragement in elementary school that I remember her influence all these years later, and I included her in my dedications in my second poetry book, “Weather Magick”. Thanks to the magic of Facebook, we’ve been able to stay in contact after all these years (I was her student in 1992-1993) and she was so pleased to hear I’m still writing and that I’ve published some of my work. I sent her a copy in the mail recently, too, and it was a nice feeling to see that kind of positive influence come full circle in a way after, oh, twenty-five years. Throughout high school, I was all about the after-school poetry club, which we all referred to as “The Writer’s Society” - and yes, we were certainly a crew of eccentrics and misfits. Then, in my early twenties, I participated in open-mic poetry events in the Adams Morgan neighborhood of Washington, D.C., for many years. I lived in Portland, Oregon, for a stint in 2009-2011 and enjoyed checking out open-mic readings and even hosted a couple of “Retro Speakeasy”-style poetry and jazz events during my time there. For the last three years here in Denver, Colorado, I sometimes hit the mic on Sunday evenings at the Mercury Cafe and other venues like Mutiny Information Cafe. Poetry has always manifested as a quintessential part of who I am in my identity all along, to be honest.

2. You’ve released two books of poetry lately “The Cicada and the Firefly” and “Weather Magick", how did these books come about and why now? It was always my intention to publish my collection of poetry from throughout the years I’ve been writing, at least since I was an adult. Last year, in January, I finally set a goal to publish my first collection on or before my birthday in late September. So I researched online self-publishing tools and settled on Amazon’s CreateSpace platform and began going through my collections and formatting the pages. It was the end of March last year in 2016 when I got very sad news about a close friend of mine that I’d known since I was fourteen years old. His name was Benjamin Johnson, Benny, and he was very influential on my life as a kind of soulmate. Unfortunately, he struggled with demons such as drug addiction, and met his untimely death last spring when he was struck by a car. Honestly, this was the first time someone close to me had passed away, and I grieved deeply for quite awhile. During the grieving process, I dug up every poem and journal entry I could find that referenced my feelings for Benny, or our experiences together, over many years, dating back to when I was a teenager. I compiled them and formatted them into their own collection as a way to honor him and our relationship together. It was important to me to prioritize this collection first. I published by mid September. My soul had to release it out to the universe. Because of the nature of how he came in and out of my life, which you can read about intimately, you’ll understand the reference to insects in “The Cicada and the Firefly: a study of love and insects” when you read through the storyline in real-time poetry and prose. As for second book published on October 31, 2016, titled, “Weather Magick: a collection of poetry and witchcraft”, it is a selection of 31 poems from my general collection, which you’ll find references to nature, both serene and disastrous, and the emotional turmoil involved in growing up and maturing in a world of life, love, and spiritual journey. I reference ritual and alchemy, and other Pagan concepts are easy to find in my writing if you’re an adept. As this writing is an outlet that helps with my spiritual and mental balance, it’s just as important to share this writing with others as it is to produce it for my own catharsis to begin with. I hope and wish that this display of my journey, the joy and pain and everything between, provides a realm of understanding and language for others seeking to know that they’re not alone in this world.

3. Who are your poetic influences? My quick three responses are Emily Dickensen, Sylvia Plath, and Dorothy Parker. I also find myself inspired by Margaret Atwood, and then a dive back into the works of the Sufi poet Rumi. When I was younger, back in Ms. Brady’s fifth grade class, I remember being greatly inspired by the work of Langston Hughes.

4. How do you write? Do you have a time of the day that you are most productive or do you wait till it comes to you? It’s difficult for me to write at home, actually, so I find myself at coffee shops and local brew pubs to get that time out of my daily routine and usual pattern of function in order to get the headspace to reflect and write in my handwritten journals. So, weekday evenings at pubs, for sure, and weekends give me more flexibility for the coffee shop writing sessions. Bonus if the weather is nice and I can sit outside for the writing process.

5. How does being a witch influence your poetry? Being a witch influences my writing more and more as I accept it as not only a part of who I am, fully embracing this part of me while being brave against a world that may not understand me, and also allowing my poetry to channel the voice of the witch without fear or perhaps concern that the symbolism or concepts won’t translate to the general public. I’d like to think that those who gather Pagan spiritual concepts will recognize those patterns and references in my writing, but also that those who aren’t adept in such practices will still be moved and perhaps intrigued by the archetypes and metaphors presented enough to find inspiration.

6. How do poets look at the world differently from other people? I can’t speak for other poets, but for me, I know I feel this world, every experience, every insecurity, every possibility, every dynamic, more intensely than most in this world. For those of us who need to express ourselves and be heard, to bear witness to the complicated suffering of this world; words, prose, and poetry is our gospel to the universe.

7. How did you find and begin to practice paganism as a child? The short answer is that I was an odd child who found the cool part of the bookstore in Barnes and Noble at an early age. I was easily interested in subjects like astrology and faery lore and animal magic by the age of ten or so. By age twelve, I was reading books on more intermediate subjects like Celtic magic and crystal healing and the Tarot, mostly a self-taught solitary student, though by age fourteen, I started working and studying at the local Wiccan shop in my small rural town that opened up called ‘Keepers of the Moon Garden’, and there I was mentored under the wing of the shop owner, Theresa, and thus began my more formal and serious study of Paganism by a state-recognized circle. My parents were, thankfully, very supportive. My father does woodworking as a skilled hobby and even built my spiritual altar which has a dark-wood inlay of a pentacle on the surface. I am blessed to have had such support when so many of my peers were being rejected by their families and loved ones for their ideas and beliefs along the Pagan path.

8. What do you want your books to do for people? This is a great question to consider. Somewhere between the exhibitionist expressive artist, and the confessional, sometimes commanding mystic, I suppose I simply wish to share my experience as fully and wholly as I can with anyone who seeks to commiserate or feel they are not alone in this complex human existence. Perhaps to learn from my pain and my experience, so that others can maybe suffer a little less.

9. Have you ever performed your poetry in front of people? And if so, how did it feel to perform words you wrote to an audience? Yes, many times, in many capacities, and I still feel that nervous reaction each time I begin, blushing cheeks and quivered-voice, worry of sounding ridiculous or worse, but I’ve continued to be brave and follow my truly fiery inner need to share my words with the world, so I power through, sweaty forehead and all. The reward begins with the release, and then anyone who relates to you therein gives you reassurance on occasion. The most important part, however, is that you are brave and give your voice the volume of sound it deserves.d

10. Denver is getting more and more expensive, is it hard to be a creative person there these days? Are you full-time poetry or do you work a day job? Yeah, definitely, I think about it often and it’s difficult to know where the benefits of the rental versus ownership market lands for most of us here. I proudly and very gratefully have been a full-time employee of the National Cannabis Industry Association since January of 2014 where I do communications, media, and public relations projects. It’s a non-profit trade association, so I don’t make big corporate bucks, but I do make a decent living and love working hard in an industry where I have roots in the activist movement before it even really became an industry. There are good people shaping the roots of the cannabis industry, and as a healer and activist, doing this work is greatly rewarding in my path. I enjoy multimedia production, managing website content, managing and hosting our weekly podcast, and working with video content, so that allows me a path of creative expressiveness in my routine work, which is pretty exciting. My career in non-profit political and social justice issues as well as my personal activism and artistic endeavors have kept me busy through the years, and I certainly prefer it that way. “Idle hands…” and so on, perhaps. So I do my best to make time to show up at open-mic nights when I can, and I am planning more opportunities to reach out to various venues and book stores to share my work. It’s so cool to see the culture of Denver in particular with the cornerstone neighborhood bookstores that create welcoming environments for local authors to participate in the literary economy. So I’m selling poetry books independently as an artistic revenue income stream in my spare time. I self-publish through Amazon’s CreateSpace. Through that platform, the revenue percentages that I see are about half the retail price the author or creator assigns. Author’s copies can be ordered for a reasonable charge which allows for direct personal sales, though shipping charges apply. There’s math involved, and it basically comes down to an occasional flux in a boost of sales which gives me a nice few dollars of sales here and there. But I’m also issued tax-related forms from these sales which are accounted for when I file my yearly taxes. But there you are, marketing yourself, responsible for all your sales and taxes when ordered online. It’s just one avenue to get one’s art out there, knowing the risks and losses and work involved. But I just couldn’t wait anymore. It was time for me to publish. It was overdue, so I made a resolution to do it, and I did. I set out to publish one book of poems, and as it turned out, I published two. And it feels right.

11. Five years from now, best case scenario, what does your life look like? I appreciate the gravity and hopefulness of this question so much. I’ve been blessed to have on my resume several roles throughout the years as I grew at companies and organizations that have facilitated great change and impact on our society in America, and perhaps beyond. And in my growth as a person and spiritual being, advocate, activist, artist, and whatever else I think I am, I just hope to continue to find roles and opportunities where I can have an impact for the greater good. I know I’m an odd duck, a strange bird, but I think most people by this time in my life understand what I stand for and what kind of help and strength and offerings I have to give. I just want a role in five years where I can give all my best talents and skills and strengths into some greater good. I’d also like to see more progress toward my goals of “house, hound, husband, and happiness.”

12. Where can people find your stuff on the internet? Well, I’m active on most social media including Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, and I’ve also created a Facebook author page specific to my poetry publications. I’m very active, I always have been, on social media and I do post about my professional role in the cannabis industry as well as my Pagan-centric spirituality. It’s in my nature as a communications and media person, as well as an artist and activist through the years. So, to find me on most social media platforms, I go by ‘Beatnik Betty’. And I love to connect with friendly like-minded artists and activists.

Twitter: @BeatnikBetty Facebook:  /BeatnikBetty Facebook:  /BethanyMoorePoet Instagram:  bqatnikbetty

I’d also love if folks interested in supporting my poetry by purchasing my publications would please find them on Amazon.com.

Weather Magick: a collection of poetry and witchcraft  

The Cicada and the Firefly: a study of love and insects Thanks so much for allowing me to share my work with your audience. My message is that there are many of us out here that want to create a better world, who wish for healing and transformation, and you are not alone. Just as I seek my particular flavor of love and purpose, I hold sacred space, and know of many who hold sacred space at this time as well, with all pointing toward a greater reality. Now is the time when we must find each other and connect and share now more than ever before.

Be well, and Blessed